


Midnight

by Candipeach26



Category: Bodyguard (TV 2018)
Genre: Angst, Bodyguard, F/M, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, Nightmares, Past Sexual Assault, Politics, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Smut, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-29
Updated: 2020-09-30
Packaged: 2020-09-30 04:37:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 11
Words: 51,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20440613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Candipeach26/pseuds/Candipeach26
Summary: Sergeant Julia Montague is blunt.  No-nonsense.Capable.Ruthless.Fearless.Until her newest assignment challenges her in ways she could've never, ever anticipated.--STORY FINISHED!  NEW CHAPTERS BEING ADDED THIS WEEK--





	1. At All Costs

**Author's Note:**

> Hi. :) Here's a new story. Credit and love to lavenderbudding on Tumblr for the fantastic prompt, and to Meral for sending it my way.
> 
> Starting fresh. Here we go.  
-Candi

_28/9/18_

_I need to get out of here._

_I need to run._

* * *

And she does.

Until her legs are practically numb from exertion, her thighs and calves screaming for mercy, bruised feet striking the asphalt in an endless, rhythmic blur.

Her lungs bursting, quaking with the demand, barely keeping up as she tears through the deserted city streets. 

London. Dark, cold and impersonal. 

Empty.

* * *

The freedom she feels in that moment. 

She ramps up her speed, digging deep, feeling a surge of energy quicken her pace as she cuts across the street and blazes a trail through the park.

\--------

No nightmares.

No dead bedroom to contend with. 

The occupant on the other side of the mattress she shared remaining far past the duration of his interest in her, or them, or their marriage. 

In making anything ‘work out’, or reconciling, or understanding, or even communicating in real, tangible terms anymore.

\--------

No weighted silences to negotiate. 

Coffee sipped silently in hushed tandem after the barest exchange of a morning greeting. 

Frustrated, lonely eyes. 

Peering intermittently from over the edges of papers, glaring in the periphery as the other idly looks down at their phone.

Neither of them brave enough to cut loose.

\--------

No assignments, no superiors. 

No false humility to assume, nor deference to feign.

No politicians or dignitaries or any other high-level arseholes to kowtow to. 

_Yes, sir. Yes, ma’am. Of course, sir. No problem, ma’am._

Tolerating their pronounced arrogance, their entitled smarm, their disgusting facades. Their dull lives on high display, shined up and polished for media consumption, barely-concealed phoniness in plain sight. 

It sickened her to no end. Yet she holds it all in, having learned a thing or two from her job over the years about the value and usefulness of pretense.

Stand straight and tall. Vest on, suit casually crisp. Tight smile in place, head on a swivel, eyes darting about. 

The perfect, dutiful officer, by all outward appearances.

Because that's all that matters.

\--------

She can manage well enough. 

Gets by. Does her job. Stays in place.

Until the night comes.

And she can shed it all as she _outruns_ _it all_. 

\--------

Nothing can catch her as she pants and she shivers and sweats and shakes and shrieks as the miles pile up and her body tries to cave and she doesn’t let it falter _let’s go motherfucker 7 more kilometers _and it’s the only thing she lives for on this godforsaken planet the euphoria and the exhaustion and the sweet ache of pushing the brink even further away than ever _because here she is invincible she is strong she cannot be stopped or ignored or told what to do or fucked over in any way, shape, or form _and so she forges on with gritted teeth until everything is flushed out until there is nothing more to give or feel _or **fear **_anymore_._

_\--------_

Her legs give out first. 

She collapses onto the nearest soft earth, utterly spent, eyes closed as the sweat cools on her skin and her breathing takes eons to return to normal. Cracking open bleary eyelids to gaze at the night sky, stars winking even as the dark tapestry surrounding them lightens in hue, dawn threatening their tenure.

When she is sure she can move without queasiness or weakness bowling her over, she rises slowly. Dusts herself off. Looks around, orients herself. 

And if she’s close enough to walk, she does.

\--------

The familiar, boxy, broad silhouette of the Yard comes into view.

She goes in, flashes her badge. Showers in solitude.

Wrenches open a battered old locker, door nearly off its hinges from overuse. 

Removes a fresh suit, a vest. Her toiletries. Dresses and washes up. 

Heads down to the range. 

Signs out her Glock and as many magazines as they allow.

And shoots.

And shoots some more.

Empties one, replaces it with another. 

She hardly blinks as the hours pass.

_Ready, aim, fire._

Targets obliterated with far too much ease.

Perfect form, perfect aim.

Perfect shot.

Every time.

* * *

The classified envelope awaited her _inside_ of her locker, a breach of security that was not lost on Julia as she returned for her personal articles a couple hours later. She hefted it, noting its size and weight, observing the stamp of the commissioner at its seam as she tucked it beneath her arm and departed the room.

Julia took quick, decisive steps through the hall as she hustled down to the main hub, grimacing at the intrusion of noise as officers began to report for duty. Most of them passed her without comment, the few that did acknowledge her giving a short nod of greeting as she returned the favor, not sparing a moment’s time to chat nor exchange pleasantries. The headache that had begun to flare up in earnest downstairs at the range was beginning to come to full, miserable fruition; she found herself taking deep breaths, closing her eyes briefly to shut out the stale fluorescent lighting as she ducked into the lounge for coffee before heading off to her usual dwelling.

Her desk was almost comically messy, shoved into a darker, more discreet corner of the precinct away from the maelstrom of activity dominating the main floor of the department. Old reports, unfiled and ignored, some yellowing from age, stuck out in all directions from its surface, stacked in piles that threatened to topple at the merest gust of air. Foam coffee cups were stacked twelve high in the corner, pens and markers strewn about, the desk blotter stained with all manner of liquid and crumbs from various meals over late nights of catching up on much-derided submissions. 

She’d barely sat down and gotten her hands on the pill bottle tucked discreetly in her bag before Kim strode over, an extra cup of coffee in hand. The younger constable looked her over once without comment, placing the cup on the desk in front of Julia as she took a long, measured sip from her own drink.

“I have one already.”

“You need another. You look like shite,” Kim remarked bluntly, never one to mince words, short blonde ponytail swinging as she appraised her friend from head to toe. Julia shrugged off the assessment, taking the pill bottle in hand and shaking three out before gulping them all down with a sip. She kept her eyes down, ignoring Kim’s raised eyebrows at the action, carefully indifferent to the unexpressed judgment hovering in the air between them as she rustled around in the top drawer for an envelope opener.

“Your car’s not in the yard.”

“I walked.”

The shorter woman frowned in her periphery. “Julia, you live almost 30 kilometers away.”

“I ran part of the way. Don’t you have work to do? Or are they paying you to peck at me all morning?” Julia slammed the drawer irritably, unable to find what she sought. She tore the envelope open instead, mindful of the glossy photos she saw inside, carefully trying to extricate the file within.

“New assignment?” Kim had moved on, entirely nonplussed, long accustomed to her efforts at caring for Julia being batted away in haste. Julia hummed briefly in response as she began to spread the photos out, feeling herself switch into analytical mode as the true scope of her latest assignment became clear.

“It would seem.”

“Mmmmm.”

Julia’s head rose at the suggestively lewd sound uttered by Kim, who had been peering over the copious piles of paper and caught a glimpse of the sergeant’s principal-to-be. The younger woman took another furtive sip of coffee, light green eyes flicking back to Julia with a peculiar, amused brand of envy dancing in their depths.

“Lucky you.” She sauntered off, bidding Julia a good day with a wave even as the sergeant sighed in exasperation, failing to see the ‘luck’ in anything going on currently in her life.

Least of all, this latest assignment.

* * *

Cabinet ministers were always a bloody pain in the arse to protect. Full stop. 

Arrogant to a fault, disdainful of anyone not in their social, intellectual, or economic class. Openly resentful of the protection officers charged with keeping them alive, with taking a bullet for them or doling them out in the name of stopping a threat. Julia could count on one finger the number of cabinet ministers who’d treated her with any modicum of respect within the last five years of her tenure, and that was usually the barest minimum they would spare in a good situation. But for the most part, they were all cretins: self-important, self-aggrandizing prigs who couldn’t give less of a shit about the little people who wiped their asses and drove their cars, whose altruism knew no bounds in the public eye but who would just as soon spit on you in private for the smallest slight or mistake in their vicinity.

So in a word, no. Julia was NOT feeling lucky at all.

And the feeling grew as she perused the file in front of her.

David Budd.

Chancellor to the Exchequer, by all informal accounts the second highest ranking cabinet minister in the UK. 

In charge of the national economy, finance, spending, and budgetary expenditures. Elected this year by a significant margin amid a ton of controversy surrounding his relative lack of experience and the prejudice surrounding his Scottish heritage; the English members of Parliament tended to be quite exclusionary in that regard, and Budd was no exception to the rule.

34 years old, the youngest member of the cabinet by a ridiculous margin. Also the richest member by any measure; his true net worth unknown, but estimated to be tens of billions of pounds. Considered an investment prodigy by his supporters. Educated at Cambridge, where he rooted his start-up and managed to create a multi-million pound business by the time he graduated.

The backstory and his government post paled in stark comparison to the rest of his profile, all of which appeared to confirm Julia’s worst, most fervent predictions about the politician she was now being courted to protect.

David Budd was apparently _everywhere_. 

Overexposed. To a sickening degree.

“More Popular Than God (And Richer!),” gushed one splashy tabloid headline, publishing photo after photo of the young, dashing chancellor in public, waving to adoring crowds, engendering the kisses and adulation of swooning women seemingly everywhere he went. Paparazzi photos of him abounded, each arm customarily occupied with a waif-like model as he strolled into the newest clubs and the hottest restaurants, winking at the cameras and flashing an 1000-gigawatt smile as he courted the flashbulbs and the absurd hyper-mania surrounding his every move.

Julia’s mouth set in a grim line as she examined one of these photos in greater detail. 

The chancellor, posing for a photo outside of the O2 arena, smiling as two more anonymous, barely-dressed waifs kissed him on each cheek. She took in his (admittedly) handsome features: the youthful paleness of his skin, the perfect symmetry and sharp cut of his jaw, the thick straight brows, the dark, artfully tousled curls flecked with an appealing touch of grey at their crest, the lewd smirk of his full, well-shaped lips. 

But his **_eyes._**

She felt her breath catch momentarily as she began to brood, peering at them for one endless minute.

Studying his face again. 

Trying to figure out why she was so affected by the eyes in particular.

It certainly had nothing to do with them being unimpressive in light of the rest of his features. On the contrary; they were the textbook definition of bedroom eyes; saturated with a rich, warm blue, framed by long lashes and doubtless making him even more devastatingly attractive to the onlooker.

Not their brilliant hue, nor their shape, nor the way he skillfully manipulated the cameras with them, obviously captivating his audience with the merest glance.

It wasn't that. Not in the least.

Rather, it was because Julia could swear she saw an answering _emptiness_ there.

A disengagement. An inner, abiding numbness. 

A _void_.

One that she recognized all too well.

“Sampson wants you in her office.”

The strident pep of a passing officer’s voice snapped Julia out of her thoughts abruptly, causing her to jump a little and spill coffee all over the white cuff of her shirt. 

_Great._

She grumbled beneath her breath, gathering herself together and reassembling the file hastily before palming it and heading briskly off in the direction of the elevators.

* * *

“I trust that you’ve looked over the file I sent you.”

Sampson, hardly looking past her computer screen to acknowledge her presence. Customary cool disdain in place as Julia echoed the indifferent sentiment, her own veiled gaze looking past the hunched, haughty figure at the desk to take in the moody vista of yet another overcast London morning.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Questions?” 

Evidently finishing up her online perusal, the police commander sat back a little in her chair to regard the officer sitting before her. Julia shrugged brusquely beneath the sudden scrutiny, stone-faced, masking her growing irritation at nothing in particular as the seconds seemed to stretch on. Sampson’s mere presence tended to do that to her…and to everyone else at the department.

“No, ma’am.”

At that, Sampson bristled a little.

“You do realize how high-profile this is, Sergeant,” she remarked, pulling out her own copy of the file in question. “And how potentially dangerous it may be to protect the chancellor in such a politically-charged climate.”

Julia added a quick dash of resentment to her irritation, narrowing her eyes at the commander. “With respect, ma’am, the job is inherently dangerous. That is hardly a deterrent.”

“Budd’s _different_,” Sampson insisted bluntly, collecting the file before rising from her chair. She took a few idle steps around her desk, the starched cut of her dark suit hardly wrinkling in response, severe auburn chignon pulled tightly back from her perpetually terse features as those unsettling grey eyes looked her over. Julia saw the tiniest furrow emerge upon the commander’s brow as she leaned a hip onto her desk, facing her in partial profile.

“There are aspects of this assignment that are not in the official file. Factors to consider before you take this on,” the elder superior added ominously, reopening the folder and placing it in front of Julia. She scanned it quickly, noticing that Sampson’s file indeed held much more classified information than she’d been privy to, only half-listening as she took in the greater scope of the assignment.

“He’s reckless. Almost deliberately courting the threats being made against his life. Taunting the would-be assassins. Ignoring police advice on a routine basis,” Sampson declared, crossing her arms as she continued to detail the unique concerns in play. “There’s a great chance that he’s at least partially in-the-know about the origin and source of the threats. Prior attempts to garner that information from the chancellor himself have been unsuccessful to date.”

At this she paused, flicking her eyes back over to Julia, who for her part didn’t so much as flinch as she soberly held the commander’s gaze. Sampson leaned in for emphasis, her next statements unmasking the more accurate motives behind Julia’s assignment.

“It has been discussed. We’d appreciate…a more _nuanced_ form of observation from the PPO heading up the chancellor’s security detail this time around. We need to know what he’s unwilling to share. Part of the reason his would-be assailants are still free to this day is because Chancellor Budd, despite the media’s obsession with the tawdrier details of his private life, remains a cipher in many ways. We don’t know enough about the man himself to conjure up any concrete leads, and since a few of the threats targeted larger venues, the question of public safety is also in play.”

“Nuanced…observation.” Julia repeated the words in a voice flirting with outright derision, knowing full well what she was being asked to do. “Spying, you mean.”

“Observing closely. His private phone’s already been tapped. There are listening devices in the armored cars assigned to his detail. 11 Downing’s also being similarly surveilled, but as you already know from Budd's file, he chooses to live in a penthouse residence the majority of the time. That will be your domain primarily: wiring that up, as well as the task of getting to know him better. Getting him to trust you.”

The _insult_ of this entire operation. 

Julia fought down the urge to just get up and leave, growing more incensed by the minute as the implications of what she was being asked to do and who she was being asked to be compounded by the minute.

“Ignoring the very real question of the legality of the surveillance being implemented,” she intoned, trying carefully to keep the ire out of her voice, “am I to infer that my assignment to the chancellor is not primarily to protect him, but to _pursue_ him?”

Sampson said nothing, nor did she look away. Arms crossed, staring blankly at the younger officer without further comment.

Julia had heard quite enough. “Right. We’re done here, ma’am. I’m respectfully declining this assignment.”

“You’ve been appointed by the commissioner himself, Sergeant,” the commander confessed in a sharp tone, shaking her head as Julia made to rise from her chair, raising her hand tersely to discourage the action. “This is a mandatory post for you. A bump in pay. A rise in stature. Do well enough here and he’s guaranteeing a quick elevation of rank, with commendations. Your service is admirable, and you’re the most skilled protection officer I currently have here in the department. Chancellor Budd is obviously very partial to women, as his public profile has no doubt made quite clear to you. It’s an advantage we can’t afford to gloss over for the sake of propriety. We need information. At all costs.”

Sampson stood then, strolling back to the other side of the desk, ignoring the daggers being glared at her back as Julia fumed silently, jaw tight and body tense. They both knew all too well that refusal to accept a commissioner-appointed assignment spelled out imminent dismissal, one way or another. There was no other choice.

And the commander, for her part, had absolutely no pity nor remorse. The end always, always justified the means. 

“You’re taking the assignment, Sergeant. Don’t fuck it up. Do your job, use the equipment we give you. Most importantly, get to know him on a _personal_ level. Do whatever you have to do to gain his trust_._ I expect you to report directly to me with any new information you uncover.”

“Ma’am.”

The commander dismissed her then without so much as a wave, those cold, insentient eyes cutting away from her deftly as she took her seat and resumed her work. Julia rose stiffly, biting back every expletive in the book as she turned her back and walked out, making sure to slam the door behind her.

* * *


	2. An Introduction

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Thanks for the awesome input and support for the story. Credit and love to lavenderbudding on Tumblr for the fantastic prompt, and to Meral for sending it my way.
> 
> Just a couple notes here to set the scene:
> 
> -Julia and David are a lot closer in age than they are in the show; for the purposes of this story, he's 34 and she's approaching 39.  
-There's gonna be some struggles coming into play for our characters; I didn't want to spoil them in the tags, but as the chapters go along, please do check as I'll be amending them to properly warn readers of any triggering material. 
> 
> Thanks! Enjoy.  
-C.

* * *

Julia was dead on her feet by the time she trudged over the threshold to their small, slightly shabby condo, switching on the light in the cramped foyer and shaking the rain off of her jacket. The heavens had opened only moments before, catching her just as she’d left the underground station, her cramped legs carrying her forward by sheer force of will as she made quick work of the 20-minute walk back to the house.

She plopped down heavily on the entryway bench, stooping to remove her heels. Reached back to free her hair from its tie, thick brunette tresses falling down her back as the unseasonable humidity curled the untrimmed ends. Buried her head in her hands momentarily, feeling the temporary abatement of the headache she’d been dodging all day begin to throb threateningly behind tired, red eyes.

Between the lack of sleep, the hellish run, her latest assignment, and the subsequent run-in with Sampson, she found herself wanting nothing more than to take a couple more pills, head straight to the bedroom, and shut the entire world out for the rest of the night.

But of course she’d spied the black pair of galoshes, neatly sitting in the corner of the foyer. And the grey raincoat. And the leather shoulder bag, tucked next to the bench, the initials RM neatly imprinted in gold on the front flap. 

So she rose. Mentally preparing herself as she walked barefoot into the living space, feeling herself tense regardless at the sight of her husband’s back. He was sitting atop a stool, no doubt buried in work, the glow from his laptop illuminating his profile as the clack of his hands flying across the keyboard filled the space.

“Hey, love.”

Rob turned sharply, pulling the earbuds out of his ears as Julia approached him from behind at the kitchen island and slid a tentative arm around his waist. “Oh, sorry, podcast. I hadn’t heard you come in,” he stammered, pecking her on the cheek before briefly embracing her. Rob sat back down, minimizing his screen for a moment as he regarded her neutrally. “Good day?”

“It was fine,” she lied with a false chirpiness, walking around the island to get to the fridge. She pried the door open, taking note of the week-old cartons of takeout and the copious lack of all else, her stomach rumbling ominously at the sad sight. “Yours?”

“Great.”

Silence reigned for a moment as Julia straightened up and closed the fridge, running a frustrated hand through her hair. “Did you eat? Not much here.”

“I had an early dinner tonight with the PM,” Rob admitted, a note of smugness in his voice. Julia stiffened immediately, her hand tightening on the fridge door handle as she felt a shiver chase down her spine.

“I…that’s…great,” she managed, praying to hell that Rob would drop it: just leave it there for once, and move on. Her stomach roiled, this time for very different reasons as she pried her hand away and tried to busy herself with looking through the takeaway menus on the counter. “Guess that means good things for your job.”

“It means I’m getting that promotion any day now,” Rob boasted, his crooked smile growing wider even as Julia’s expression grew darker. He continued for some time, heedless of the change in mood, detailing all the ways he’d been currying favor while Julia flipped through the array of different restaurant pamphlets, hating the way her shaking hands began to betray her.

“…And Penhaligon’s completely open to me joining his staff. Ever since he became PM, he’s been nothing but—”

“Are you sure you don’t want anything? I’m ordering Chinese,” Julia interrupted tersely, needing Rob to stop, needing nothing more than silence and solitude and a year’s worth of sleep and to change the topic away from the current PM for the rest of the evening and beyond. The tone of her voice must’ve gotten through, as she felt his mood shift from excited to defensive in record time.

“No. As I just stated, I had dinner with the Prime Minister,” Rob said slowly, enunciating it as if she were impaired in some way. Julia cut her eyes sharply to his, feeling her ire rise, feeling it all begin to slip backwards into negative territory as the air between them thickened with tension and Rob simply stared back, his gaze hardening, brows raised challengingly.

_Don’t make it worse. Please. Just._

“Fine,” she finally asserted, unwilling to fight, desperate to just get out of the room at that point before either of them said or did something regretful. Stalking out of the kitchen without another word, Julia retrieved her phone from her bag and sullenly retreated into the bedroom.

* * *

She just needed to take two this time.

Maybe three. 

It had been hours, really. 

And two would only relax her, but likely not make a dent in the headache. Whereas three usually did the trick.

For a little while, anyway.

Taking them on an empty stomach was likely the worst thing Julia could do, but it wasn’t like she had much of a choice at that point. The delivery had yet to arrive, and she’d be damned if she was going to reignite the tension that existed between her and Rob that night. Their little tiff had been tame by their recent standards, but it was enough to set her on edge. And that was honestly the last thing she needed at that point.

So she palmed the bottle, shook out what she needed. Tucked the remainder away as she headed to the bathroom with quick steps and shut the door firmly behind her. 

Popped all three into her mouth. Ran the faucet, cupping her free hand beneath the stream of water and bringing the cool fluid to her lips. Felt the pills slide easily down her throat, promising merciful relief in less than an hour’s time. 

Julia turned the faucet off and raised her head in that moment.

Stopped. 

Staring anew at the woman looking back at her.

At the bleary red eyes, hazel irises dull and clouded over. 

The drawn, pale expanse of her face. Blemished in spots, dry in others, flaking noticeably around the mouth.

Lips thin and colorless, her cheeks noticeably hollowing out.

Her dark hair was overgrown, limply hanging about her shoulders. All manner of luster and life stripped away.

And she resolutely turned away from the sight. Turned on the shower. Adjusted the temperature and flow of the water. Stepped inside the slippery confines of the tiled stall, more willing than ever to ignore the blisters and bruises adorning her feet. Soaped up, her hands skirting over a ribcage becoming alarmingly prominent, washing legs that were now all sinew, their former curvaceous nature sacrificed months ago in service to more distance in the dark. 

Julia washed beneath drooping breasts. Ran a washcloth over shoulders that felt like solid rock. Slid it beneath her hair and scrubbed a nape knotted with tension.

And by the time she rinsed off, by the time the pills kicked in and the lassitude followed and the pain finally, finally started to recede, she felt so much_ better._

Unable to think, or stress, or fret. 

No shaking hands, no memories best left forgotten.

Julia felt wonderful. Above it all. Her fuzzy head just begging for a pillow to lay on, her limbs heavy and in dire need of the bed in the next room.

And so she slipped into a gown, slid beneath light covers. And was out like a light by the time her dinner arrived at the front door minutes later.

* * *

_1/10/18_

_Up at 1._

_Four hours of sleep this time. Not bad._

_This Chinese food arguably tastes better, cold from the fridge. _

_So._

_I guess I’m supposed to use this journal to detail my stressors. Clarify what triggers me, so that I can control my reactions and redirect myself. It’s been so long since I journaled at all, and finding that old one from years ago just seemed to set me off in this direction again. _

_I remember that being so helpful at the time, after I came home._

_While everything was still so raw, so painful. And there were things going on in my head best left out of polite conversation, even with the therapist._

_Don’t get me wrong. Shelly was great. She probably saved my life, in all honesty._

_It’s just probably for everyone’s own good that I spare them the details._

_Rob probably couldn’t handle them, even if I tried._

_And maybe that’s me, underestimating him. Maybe that’s the recency bias of weathering this rough patch, where I wouldn’t share those sorts of things with him even if I wanted to. _

_I know I’m not perfect._

_Especially now. I’m struggling a little. I’ll fully admit to it. If Kim is to be believed, the struggle is a lot more visible than I thought._

_Just sleep issues. A couple nightmares recently. Nothing I can’t handle._

_But he’s not helping._

* * *

She’d miraculously fallen back asleep around 3, woke up at 7 in the middle of their bed. 

All alone.

Suddenly feeling the urge to apologize to Rob for the way she’d stormed off the night before, perhaps show a bit more interest in his career rise for his sake. 

Julia lay there for long, quiet minutes in the semi-darkness, watching as the sun began to illuminate the far corner of the room. Listening for anything: the bustle of him, in the kitchen. A mug clinking, a round of toast popping up. The drone of his off-key humming, which so often accompanied his moving about their home.

Nothing.

And so she slowly tugged herself from the recesses of the bed. Padded over to the closet, pulled out a suit and shirt along with her spare vest. She’d beg off actually going into the precinct today for any reason; her encounter with Sampson the day before still rubbing her in all the wrong ways, the notion that this new assignment today would be anything but professional completely out of the window, as far as Julia was concerned.

Commissioner-sanctioned or not, she had no intention of acting as spy. And she sure as bloody hell wouldn’t be attempting to cozy up to the chancellor for any reason. 

Julia intended to do her job just as well as she’d always done it. With the same three exact goals in mind. 

Secure the premises. Ensure his safe travel. Keep him alive.

And if that didn’t suffice for the powers that be, that really wasn’t her problem.

* * *

The morning passed without comment. 

Julia sat in the passenger seat, looking down at her phone. A sense of guilt beginning to overtake her in the moments before she was officially scheduled for duty that day.

Her thumb hovering over the tiny, round photo of Rob on the screen. 

Face burned to all hell, cheeks bright red, smiling like a fool as he’d slung an arm around her shoulders. His dark hair crushed beneath a cap, light brown eyes twinkling in the generous sunshine as she’d taken the selfie of them while hiking together on holiday years before.

She felt the pangs of helplessness stab low in her gut the longer she gazed at the memory, an all-too-familiar grief beginning to consume her at the thought of all they’d gone through over the years. All the effort they’d put into their marriage, everything she’d been through since the war and their strengthened commitment in the duration beginning to dissipate into _nothingness._

“Control, 7-9, verify status,” a tinny voice within her earpiece requested suddenly. Julia intoned her status and position, the driver next to her giving a short nod of agreement as he expertly steered the massive luxury SUV through the bustling city streets. They were en route to the chancellor’s penthouse, expected to arrive in less than five minutes’ time. The interior of the truck remained blessedly quiet as she let her vision lose focus, retreating once again into her own troubled thoughts as her thumb still hovered absently over the smiling image of the man she…

Loved.

She did still love him. In many ways. 

Had fallen hard during their secondary school years for that earnest, boyish quality he possessed in spades, his spirited approach to life. He’d been this scrawny, gawky creature with a gap in his smile, the smartest one in their class who’d hardly broken a sweat during the entirety of their time at school together. Julia had been just as smart but much more reticent in those days: hiding beneath long flat bangs and burying herself in schoolwork, flattered to pieces when he asked her to study with him, their surprisingly easy friendship delving into deeper territory rather quickly.

They’d married young. She joined the Royal Air Force straight out of school, determined to become a pilot. Succeeded admirably and was promptly deployed, serving four consecutive tours in the Middle East. He went to Oxford, studied law, becoming ambitious in ways that neither of them had anticipated. 

So the truth was that two people entered a marriage almost twenty years ago, naïve and full of energy, believing that they could get through pretty much anything together. Trusting the other to remain supportive, no matter what came their way.

And the unspoken reality was that neither of them were those people anymore. 

In any capacity whatsoever.

* * *

“We’re here, sergeant.”

The driver signaled to pull over, the sharp, shiny façade of The Shard coming into view as the crowds of people lingering on the sidewalks became noticeably more dense at its front entrance. Julia sighed, pocketing her phone and all accompanying sentiments as she came to razor-sharp alertness, scanning the crowd and the lay of the entrance plaza as they came to a stop behind a virtual motorcade of other vehicles idling at the curb.

“7-9 inbound,” Julia transmitted, alighting from the truck and nodding to the police staff flanking the main entrance doors. She flashed her badge quickly and strode inside, clocking every single pertinent detail as she went along, low heels clicking on shining marble floors as the opulent foyer around her buzzed with activity.

The sleek, mirrored bank of lifts resided at the far end of the foyer, flanked by guards and attendants; another brief badge check earned her access to the secured lift car, the attendant’s fingerprint utilized for security purposes as the door closed and a posh female voice intoned their destination.

Before Julia could so much as take a couple more deep breaths to center herself, they swiftly arrived at the intended floor, the doors sliding apart to reveal an expansive carpeted foyer teeming with security detail. She counted six men, brawny and sullen, dressed in nondescript dark suits and shades…like a scene practically out of the cinema, especially the way the mood in the foyer seemed to tense up at her appearance. 

“Sergeant Julia Montague, Royalty and Specialist Protection,” she introduced in a strong, unaffected tone as she brandished her credentials to the henchmen guarding the tall double doors. “I’ve been assigned to head the chancellor’s detail.”

“Wait downstairs,” the one on the left demanded gruffly, arms crossed in front of his body as he pushed out his chest a little, obviously trying to intimidate. 

_Oooh. Fresh meat._

It was clear he hadn’t the slightest idea who he was fucking with. And Julia intended to educate him on the spot.

She stepped to him, lowering her voice, her next words icy as she appraised him with narrowed eyes.

“I’m going to make myself perfectly clear once; not only to yourself, but to every other guard in this room,” Julia began, sparing none of them her venom as she continued. “I pull rank here. _Not you_. Specialist Protection is the primary security force for any active member of the government body in the United Kingdom. Private security forces are a distant, irrelevant second. You’re under my authority when you’re in the vicinity of my principal.”

She straightened up to her full height, relishing the way the man before her grimaced, jaw clenching with undisguised fury as she continued to talk him down. “And if you obstruct my duties in any way, I will have you removed from the premises. If you act in ways I deem deleterious to the principal, I will immediately have you arrested. You will address me as Sergeant Montague ONLY. And if I ask you to open this door, you will open it. Now. Are we clear?”

“Yes. Sergeant.” He spat it out through gritted teeth, obviously pissed at being dressed down in front of the other guards but threatened enough by her assurances to comply. Julia allowed herself a tiny smirk as he turned and pressed his thumb to the sensor, opening the door with a jerk of his wrist as she felt his eyes glaring at her through the shades. She tilted her chin up as she marched past, hearing him mutter an expletive in her wake that she was sure wouldn’t be repeated to her face were she to step to him again.

She wasn’t worried at all. 

They’d learn quickly.

* * *

The minute the door closed behind her, Julia turned around and felt positively dwarfed by **_space_**.

The sheer breadth of the chancellor's penthouse couldn’t be overstated in a million years. Nor could its undeniable, jaw-dropping beauty.

Julia took a full minute just to look around in utter awe despite herself, having never been in a dwelling so expansive. The elegant, open-style penthouse honestly took her breath away; she found herself taking tentative steps forward, stunned at her surroundings as she entered the new space with wide eyes and a sense of unabashed wonder.

The place was virtually a palace, every single surface that caught her eye tastefully decorated, modern and utterly beautiful. The décor was simple and clean, all creams and white veined marble and soft sable leather seating. Art, both contemporary and traditional, hung expertly in a flawless row stretching the length of the first floor corridor. An entire side of the penthouse sported three-story floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the whole of London proper, the spectacular view stretching endlessly in every single direction.

It was extravagance personified, putting even the opulence of the front lobby to shame. She had yet to meet the chancellor himself, but she now fully understood why the cramped, older confines of 11 Downing had been eschewed in favor of _this_ space.

_Wow._

Julia abruptly snapped back to attention at the sound of a door opening somewhere nearby, the sound echoing through the space as she quickened her steps and took a cursory look at her watch. 

11:55 AM. They were scheduled to depart at 12. 

“Chancellor?” she called out urgently, recognizing the need to quickly introduce herself and hustle him downstairs. There wasn’t a moment to waste; she was tasked with time management as well as protection, and the minute the principal was not where he needed to be, Julia was saddled with the undesirable job of explaining the reasons why.

She chanced the short walk up the curvy glass staircase to the second floor after not receiving an answer, noting the darker, more sumptuous décor as she entered a living space with a mirrored fireplace and black marble floors. One of the set of double doors to her right was open just a crack; Julia knocked uncertainly, head still on a swivel as she took in everything around her.

Which explained her uncensored alarm when the door whipped open suddenly to reveal Chancellor Budd.

Barely dressed. 

Wearing nothing but a grey towel, knotted obscenely low upon his narrow hips. 

His wide set of shoulders and muscular torso glistened with beads of water. Dark, wet hair curling attractively over his brow, his silver streak even more evident as he ran a quick hand though the thick, dripping mass. Julia’s astonished eyes made the trip downward before she could properly stop herself, following the soft curly hair covering his broad chest as it narrowed down over his rippling abdomen, trailing past his navel to end suggestively at the top of the knot. One strong thigh peeked out from beneath the towel, contours flexing sinuously as the chancellor shifted his stance. Julia fought hard to drag her eyes back up to his face, praying to every single God in existence that the heat she felt suddenly flushing her features wasn’t at all apparent to her new principal.

This was not at all how she’d envisioned their first encounter. 

The chancellor, partly naked. Her, suddenly speechless. 

And yet here they were. Kim’s favorable assessment of her new assignment suddenly made a lot more sense in hindsight.

Gleaming blue eyes met hers, a dimple emerging near the corner of the chancellor's mouth as he regarded her with the sly amusement of a man obviously used to being gawked at. “And you are?”

“Sergeant Julia Montague, Royalty and Specialist Protection,” she rushed out, mortified at her lapse in professionalism, holding out a hand for him to shake. “I’m your new PPO. A pleasure to meet you, sir.”

The chancellor took it, still staring at her with that peculiar half-smile in place before sizing her up with a flick of the eyes. His mouth twitched a little as he let go, turning his back to her and opening the door a little wider as he retreated into the room with leisurely steps. Julia averted her eyes as he did so, still mortified as hell, unwilling to make a fool of herself for a second time by openly ogling her new principal from _yet_ another angle. 

“I was wondering when they’d send one of you,” the chancellor drawled, his deep Scottish brogue flavored with obvious sarcasm. The tone of his voice seemed to be inviting her into a conversation, though she was hesitant to enter the room. 

Budd turned in profile, that same damned smirk gracing his mouth as he pressed a button on the wall. “Come in. Let’s chat. No need to be shy, now that you’ve gotten your eyeful.”

“I beg your pardon,” Julia returned, not appreciating the tease, determined to get them back on professional ground. That smirk turned into an all-out grin, Budd still not looking at her as a panel slid open on the wall and a velvet shelf of expensive watches protruded smoothly from its hidden recesses. 

“I’m likely running late. They never start without me at 11, so it’s not an imperative that we rush right now.”

“I’d prefer to speak to you when you’re fully dressed, sir,” she said firmly, vainly attempting to set a boundary even as her eyes kept traveling to places they clearly didn’t belong. Budd had a tattoo on his left shoulder, dark and difficult to make out at that moment, though she did admit to some curiosity at the choice given his obvious high pedigree. He turned away from her again, and she could swear she saw the faintest evidence of lines crisscrossing the lowest portion of his otherwise flawless, broad back—

“Says the woman who gained entry into my penthouse without my knowledge, and subsequently entered my bedroom just as I was stepping out of the shower. You’re a study in contradictions, Julia,” he chided mockingly, choosing a watch before walking across the room and out of view. 

She stiffened at the casual use of her first name, all-too-willing to step further into the space to set him straight, ignoring the jaw-dropping grandeur of his master bedroom as she swiftly corrected his slight. 

“Sergeant Montague. You will address me by my title. Sir.”

Budd paused at that, placing the watch next to the suit laid out neatly on the bed before straightening back up to meet her gaze. The air of joviality began to diminish in slow, threatening degrees, those brilliant blue eyes hardening as he took measured steps towards her, never once looking away.

“Let’s get a few things straight, _Julia_,” he murmured tonelessly, coming to a stop less than a meter from where she stood. She looked him dead in the eyes, feeling her jaw clench and her adrenaline peak as she stared back defiantly, undaunted by the proximity.

“I know why you’re here. I know exactly what you’re up to. And you should know that whatever the commissioner and his disgusting ilk have in store this time around, I’m three steps ahead and ten times smarter than all of them combined. No, you will not be ‘wiring up’ my penthouse. I pay those men in the hall good money to sweep this place, top to bottom, multiple times a day. The tapped phone is one of ten separate mobile phones I use on a daily basis; you’ll never know which one will be employed, and you’ll never have access to any of them. The armored car you pulled up in is being swept for devices as we speak.”

_Shit._

The chancellor really knew the game, knew all the players and strategies, the moves they were employing against him. Julia could admit to being impressed despite herself as Budd continued, those hostile eyes now taking on a decidedly different cast as he let them deliberately travel the length of her frame before coming back up.

“And no, you will not be ‘gaining my trust’ nor ‘getting a personal perspective’ of me just because you happen to be an attractive woman. So long as you wear that badge, I will never trust you. You’ll not be taken into my confidence in any conceivable way. Nothing is ever going to happen between us,” he assured her bluntly, sneering at the anger he could see rising in her expression. “But you’re more than welcome to continue enjoying the view.”

Julia fumed as Budd turned his back on her then, effectively cutting their connection off as he strutted back in the direction of the enormous bed.

“Wait out in the hall. I’ll be down in 10.”

“Sir,” she bit out tersely, all manner of protest and fury hovering just behind her clenched lips. She spun on her heel and stoically marched towards the door, turning back just in time to watch the chancellor yank his towel off entirely, the round, firm muscles of his perfect ass flexing in retreat as he crossed the room and walked through the threshold of the en suite.

_Oh my—_

Julia shut the door as quickly as she dared and made her way back down to the first floor, still simmering with anger and other feelings she steadfastly refused to name. Definitely a touch more breathless and flushed than she wished to be in that moment, opening the door and taking her post alongside the other guards in the foyer.

* * *

She had to get a grip, first and foremost. 

Obviously. 

_Jesus Christ._

And she had to figure out how to dupe the department into believing she was taking her task seriously, knowing full well that not only was she not inclined to do so, but that the chancellor himself was keen on thwarting every single strategy they had to reign him in.

What was he hiding, anyway?

Her mind flashed back to the tattoo, her eidetic memory serving to recall its unique pattern and shape. Flashed back to the thin, strap-like scarring she’d gotten a closer look at on the lower portion of his back.

Julia’s instincts were aroused. For reasons other than what she’d anticipated.

And as the chancellor finally stepped out of his penthouse doors, looking expensive and suave in his exquisitely tailored charcoal suit, his newest PPO accompanied him to the lift. Mind churning, lingering on possibilities. 

Curiosity piqued, sensing something **much** more substantial in play.

She ushered him in crisply, squaring her shoulders, transmitting to control as the doors shut and they descended in rapid fashion down to the ground floor lobby.

“Midnight outbound.”

* * *


	3. Revelations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my goodness, this got long. Yikes. Grab a drink and a snack, and settle in. Thanks for stopping by. :)  
-Candi

* * *

_Ah, there it was._

Julia felt it once again; that dull, pulsing ache that had become a grim companion of sorts, throbbing to life just behind her eyes. Becoming much more acute as the day wore on and the hours marched by.

She shifted her stance slightly forward, taking the pressure off her heels and daring to close her eyes momentarily. Finally granting herself a moment to feel properly miserable, letting out a long sigh while her eyes rested and her mind wandered away. The wide, elegantly-furnished corridor she was manning alone had been blessedly empty for at least a full half-hour, most of 11 Downing’s staff having departed for the evening in droves a short time ago. 

Her bag was unfortunately in the support vehicle, her pills out of reach for the moment.

And depressingly enough, the remedy for today’s headache was much further away than the cause of it.

No doubt devising more ways to be utterly impossible.

* * *

Chancellor Budd was, to put it in bluntest terms, an absolute prick.

Julia had gathered as much from their initial meeting that morning. 

She knew this. It was hardly a revelation. 

And yet he seemed to be going out of his way to reinforce that assessment at every turn. 

She was already sick of it; of this ridiculous game, the two of them circling each other warily in a tense orbit of stubborn wills and mutual distrust, his constant need for attention and gaining the final word grating on her nerves in a way few other principals had ever managed to do so quickly.

He sat just beyond her position, safely behind the heavy mahogany doors of the closed and cloistered grand conference room at her back. No doubt presiding over the assembled mass with his well-brewed brand of glib insouciance, his looks and charisma no doubt doing the most to win everyone over and distract from the obvious lesser qualities in play.

_His talents were to be applauded,_ Julia thought ruefully, shaking her head at the prospect of keeping this post for one minute more. Cursing the commissioner silently. Cursing Sampson a little louder in her mind, absolutely peeved at the manipulation in play. 

And sparing absolutely no mercy on her thoughts of the chancellor himself, nor all the little ways he’d already employed to deliberately piss her off or undermine her that day. 

It took quite a lot to perturb Julia, to knock her even slightly off her game. Being a wing commander in the Royal Air Force during her years of service came with no small amount of responsibility, least of all when it came to demanding respect as a woman with a commanding rank. 

She’d had her share of assholes trying to take their shot at her, knock her down a peg. Attempt to bare fangs, to take a bite out of her and see what she was made of. 

And she was all too happy to let them try. Knowing they’d break their teeth every single time.

So Julia was no shrinking violet. She could handle herself with the roughest company, hang with the toughest crowds, deal with it by getting colder than they could possibly imagine, utterly unafraid to get her hands dirty. It took a lot to shake her resolve, and even more to really get a true rise out of her in any true sense.

Which is why it was baffling how thoroughly the young chancellor had managed, in less than six hours’ time, to burrow his insufferable, egotistical persona all the way beneath her skin.

It was Olympic-level wankery, to be honest. 

* * *

Starting with the threat-laden disaster that was their departure from The Shard earlier.

Budd, texting on his phone for the duration of the elevator ride down, hardly listening to a word she said. Julia calling him out on it, receiving a haughty, disbelieving gaze in return for her chiding.

“You’re hardly serious, Sergeant. I think I know how to walk out of a building.”

“New PPO, new protocol,” she’d returned emphatically, seething on the inside as his private guards exchanged an amused look at their boss’s complete disregard of her directives. “You’re hardly in a position to question these precautions, given the recent threats being levelled your way.”

“Threats.” Budd snorted dismissively as the lift doors opened, waving her off with a careless hand as they stepped out of the carriage. He reached smoothly into the inner lapel pocket of his wool coat, pulling out a pair of dark designer shades and donning them with a bemused sneer. “I’m the most public figure in the country. If they really wanted me dead, I’d be bloody dead by now.”

_I’m beginning to see why they might,_ Julia thought irritably, nonetheless doing her due diligence and scoping out the lobby with a fresh set of eyes. 

Every head had turned in the direction of their party, every mouth that wasn’t ajar whispering excitedly as Chancellor Budd, in all his vain glory, made his way across the marble floors with all the slickly handsome ease of a man born to the spotlight. Cellphones were raised in modern-day salute, women and men alike fawning over the famous politician; only the threatening strength of Julia’s no-nonsense glare and the four private guards flanking their party creating enough of a deterrent to prevent any serious security concerns.

Until they stepped outside.

And a complete _madhouse_ ensued. 

One that her principal not only stupidly endorsed, but appeared to revel in and stoke to ever more chaotic heights.

“Chancellor!” “David, over here!” “One picture, Mr. Budd!”

Julia blanched in absolute shock as the screams that had been muted behind the thick lobby glass became deafening the minute the chancellor’s shiny wingtip dared touch the sidewalk, the screeches and screams and hands outstretched towards the politician too numerous to count or contain.

“Midnight on the move, contain the crowd!” she urged heatedly, shoving errant hands away from the principal with uncommon roughness, her visual senses on overdrive and scanning the crowd ahead for threats of any kind. Julia could hardly hear herself think or talk, the walk to the awaiting SUV seeming longer than ever as Budd played up to the wild adulation of the crowd: waving, nodding, pausing for handshakes, smug grin in place and strolling with arrogant flair beside her. 

“Bloody hell...8-6, open the door. We’ve gotta move faster.”

“You’ll get used to it,” Budd had remarked, turning that infuriatingly perfect smile on her, the barest hint of mockery evident in the sideways tilt of his head. He was met with a look that Julia was sure bordered on outright loathing, unable to school her features back into their normal bland mien as she directed her fierce glare his way.

“I won’t. We’re never doing this again, chancellor. Service exit from here on out,” she’d retorted, shaking her head at the thought of her principal openly courting such a dangerous level of exposure. Reading it in his file was one thing; watching him idiotically flirt in public with obvious danger was quite another.

“We’ve tried it before. They’ll just gather behind the hotel. Guess you’ve gotta do your job and stop the bullets as they come,” he shrugged wryly, waving to the crowd one last time and riding the laudatory cheers before ducking into the truck. Julia cursed under her breath as she shut the door behind him, sparing an exasperated glance at Tom and the still-riled crowds before climbing into the passenger seat and shutting her own door.

* * *

11 Downing was no better at all.

In fact, it was much, MUCH worse.

“Over here, Chancellor!”

“When are you moving to 10, Mr. Budd? Any day now?”

“Are you announcing your bid for PM, Chancellor?”

The media were hardly less voracious and even more eager for their piece of the young, hot superstar politician, flashbulbs practically blinding Julia as she stepped out of the truck, scowling hard at the ridiculous, over-the-top coverage.

It was absolute _**madness**_.

“Control, 7-9. Midnight inbound. Premises secure?”

“7-9, received, all clear.”

They’d barely gotten him in unscathed, one moronic photographer nearly getting himself killed by jumping the barrier to get a better view. Julia had shoved him back hard, ignoring the shouts of alarm from the crowd as guards surrounded the fallen photographer and she guided the chancellor quickly away from the untamed maelstrom.

“Well, then,” Budd remarked once inside as he eyed her with a sardonic look, clearly entertained by the circus surrounding him. He took his time casually removing his coat, winking at the captivated woman taking it from him before strolling through the vestibule into the front hall.

“You’re more ruthless than I thought, Sergeant. Poor bloke only wanted a picture. My security team could take a few lessons from you.”

Julia, still winded from the spectacle and annoyed at her principal’s endless supply of amusement at her expense, flanked him stiffly, her words clipped and her eyes straight ahead. “Prime recipe for disaster, chancellor.”

“More like a recipe for getting elected PM.”

“Can’t be PM if you’re dead,” she stated bluntly. “I’ve read your file. The threats are credible, and closer than you think. The attention you’re getting is out of control. It could easily turn volatile.”

“And again, either the ones issuing the threats are absolute rubbish at what they do. Or they have no intention of actually coming for me,” Budd reiterated in an almost bored tone, hefting his red case and itinerary as the two of them walked upstairs in tandem. “Either way, I’m still alive enough to engage in this irritating back-and-forth with you, Julia. How fortunate.”

“_Sergeant_Montague. Respect my rank.”

“The _pretension_,” he’d jeered, causing her to stop and turn on him suddenly, all manner of polite stiffness gone as they regarded each other with blatant hostility in the middle of the hall. Julia could tell she was getting a rise out of him, the temperature of his voice dropping to withering lows even as a furious blush of heat rose in his face.

“Who dented your ego, ‘Sergeant’? Some former principal who wasn’t exactly up for all the tough lady posturing, that bullshit Thatcher impression you’ve got down? You’re hardly novel. There’s no need to try so hard, love,” he'd spat sarcastically, tempting her ire in all the wrong ways.

“And who dented yours, Chancellor?” Julia’s eyes flared as she pinned him down, voice caustic as she let loose and laid into him without hesitation. “What explains the absolute lack of any real substance on your part? The disgusting false charm? The nuclear levels of arrogance, masking a glaring lack of personality? The neediness for attention, bordering on pathological—”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard every word,” Julia declared, lowering her voice yet imbuing her tone with even more venom, watching Budd’s striking features darken considerably within seconds. 

“Disrespect me again at your own risk. I’m not one of your ‘fans’, chancellor. I’m not in the adoring crowd, not a part of your cult, and I care fuck-all about how famously rich and powerful you supposedly are. I’m here to do my job and keep you alive. Keeping your ego intact is hardly a concern.”

“Julia!”

Their volatile showdown had ruptured at the boisterous greeting, Julia having zero time to switch gears before turning suddenly to find herself wrapped in a tight embrace and treated to the sight of a familiar, friendly face.

John Lahaskan, one of the most decorated Air Chief Marshals of the Royal Air Force and her chief mentor during her military days. Looking a little older, of course: his brow creased and weather-beaten, hair gone utterly grey, those wise, pale blue eyes still holding the same mischievous twinkle she’d loved all those years. She felt herself smile for the first time that day, grateful for the genuine encounter and asking about his whereabouts in the past few years. He did much the same, lauding her decision to join the force and citing the unique skills she was no doubt bringing to her role there. 

“So this is where civvy street has led you,” he'd remarked warmly, patting her on the shoulder. “Brilliant, Julia. I know you’re climbing the ranks at London Metro in record time. They're quite fortunate to have you...” 

They chatted for a little while longer, Julia returning the favor even as she felt the slightest unease at the way the chancellor listened in closely, watching their exchange with obvious interest.

It was good to see John again, she conceded, even if their meetup was tinged with real discomfort on her part. The circumstances surrounding her departure from the air force were hardly ideal, and still difficult to revisit; Julia felt herself tense up, her anxiety starting to get the best of her even as her former superior laid on the praise and went on at length to the chancellor about her service during the war.

John treaded lightly on the more difficult topics, much to his credit. He skirted around the nature of her recovery after all these years, only asking her how she was faring in general terms, though the extra layer of concern underpinning his words was pretty obvious to note. She saw Budd react to it as well, shooting her a curious glance out of the corner of his eye when she began answering the queries with as little emotion as possible. 

“And how’s Rob? All is well, I presume.”

“Well enough,” Julia noted succinctly, wanting to avoid that minefield at all costs. John turned to the chancellor then, shaking his hand, his manner much more formal and their chat congenial in nature.

“Had no idea you’d be working for this bloke. Good man,” the air marshal remarked, Julia fighting the enormous urge to roll her eyes as a corner of Budd’s mouth rose in response to the unexpected endorsement. “So bloody smart. A genius, really. He’s been singlehandedly saving our arses ever since he got in, getting our vets the funding they deserve. You two’ll make a great pair, no doubt. Though I wish he were more handsome. Must be tough to have to stare at this mug all day.”

Julia had to physically mask her grimace even as the chancellor smirked at the quip, John bidding her a warm goodbye before excusing himself and walking past them into the conference room. 

And Budd had lingered for the briefest of moments, staring at her with blatant curiosity, a tinge of newly-minted respect obvious in his gaze.

“Sir.”

“Sergeant.”

She’d turned away from him crisply, facing straight ahead as she took her post, hardly desiring his good opinion nor wishing to soften her staunch position against him. He still irked her to no end, the disrespect he’d shown still fresh in her mind, her impression of him unchanging despite the light praise John had tossed his way. 

The truth was clear. 

She didn’t have to like him.

He didn’t have to like her.

And the sooner Julia could crack the mystery surrounding the threats on his life, the better. She could justify moving on, get her promotion in short order, and transfer away from the scourge of protection detail entirely.

She’d just have to try to resist the urge to strangle the chancellor with her bare hands in the process. 

* * *

The door creaked open heavily, the petite figure of the chancellor’s assistant emerging from the drafty recesses of the room.

“The chancellor is finished here, sergeant,” she intoned, the murmuring of voices and rustling of chairs and charts instantly becoming more audible as the meeting members began filing out into the hall. 

Julia snapped instantly back into protection mode, transmitting their status and stepping aside to let others past before seizing a break in the activity to enter the room. The chancellor didn’t look up at all at her entry, still sitting at the head of the long, glossy wooden table and speaking in hushed tones to an elder man sitting to his left. 

The odd juxtaposition of the two looked incredibly alien, a microcosm of the strangeness marking the youthful chancellor’s abrupt rise to power; Budd, decades younger than practically all of these other officials, dictating their actions in full, the economic health of the entire country resting on those broad, sloped shoulders. From the murmurs of those filing out, he was apparently more than capable at his job, the various discussion of the ideas he’d presented that day virtually free of any vitriol and possessing hints of admiration for the efficiency of the chancellor’s process.

Until now.

Julia recognized the older man immediately from the photos she’d studied: Mike Travis, chief adviser to the chancellor and a long-trusted ally and champion of the young politician’s rise to power. Short of stature and bespectacled, partially bald and sporting a perpetual frown on his features, the older adviser appeared to be in intense disagreement with the chancellor. Julia watched on in silence as Budd appeared to vehemently reiterate a point, much to Travis’ clear displeasure. 

“Chancellor?”

The assistant leaned in through the doorway and spoke tersely before departing, shattering the hushed air as both men looked up abruptly at the interruption. Budd peered at Julia with surprise, evidently unaware of her presence even as Travis moved to leave, hefting his leather portfolio and pushing away from the table to stand. 

“We’ll continue this discussion in the morning,” he promised gravely, nodding at the chancellor and giving Julia the merest of salutes before walking past and disappearing down the corridor. She watched as Budd sighed, running a hand through his hair dejectedly before placing his red case on the table and gathering his articles.

“Midnight on the move.”

“Midnight hardly wants to move at the moment, Sergeant. But the freak show must roll on, right?”

“Tough meeting?” she ventured, to which he shook his head and didn’t look up from his task.

“They’re all difficult. In one way or another,” Budd responded morosely, closing his case and standing to button his suit jacket. He still looked as pressed and sharp as he did hours ago, a feat that wasn’t lost on Julia as he adjusted diamond cufflinks and eyed his watch. “Dinner across town. Think we’ll make it?”

“We will,” she declared, leading him out into the hall and guiding the way to the staircase. The crowds outside 11 Downing weren’t nearly as raucous in the later hour, Julia hustling the principal into the backseat and securing the team before giving the signal to control. Her bag was found quickly with little fanfare; she shook out a couple pills and swallowed them dry, ignoring the quizzical reflection of Budd as he watched her do so in the rearview mirror. 

Julia found herself avoiding the direct beam of that unsettling gaze, settling in and staring out of the window as their convoy pulled out and joined the buzz of London’s late evening traffic.

* * *

Dinner was a non-event from a security standpoint. 

Julia counted her blessings in that regard. Her headache had lessened considerably, replaced by the exhaustion now creeping up on her as she fought to stay alert, to stay on task and keep her eye on the principal.

Who was, once again, taking center stage. 

Pulling focus, all eyes on his every move, all ears attuned to the slightly rough, deep cadence of his accent as he met with a slew of foreign diplomats to discuss the UK’s economic focus in detail and facilitate better trade negotiation between their European neighbors. 

At least that’s what Julia could barely gather, sitting a table away and listening in while she and Tom scanned the surrounding <strike></strike>area for any disturbances. The language Budd spoke confidently was near-incomprehensible to the layman’s ear; endless, spirited jargon centered around fiscal quarters and GDP and capital expenditure, of astronomical numbers and complex budgetary allowances and all manner of interest and dividends. 

She found herself tuning out the unruly words and focusing on the man himself. Really getting to see him in action for the first time, working in his element. 

And as it turned out, David Budd was not just some pretty boy posing at his job.

There _was_ an element of genius here at work. John hadn’t thrown out that term lightly after all.

The sharp, glaring contrast in his public and business personae continued to manifest itself as Julia looked on, quietly astonished as the man she’d quickly written off as a press-hungry playboy worthy of ridicule carried himself with incredible power and intelligence throughout the evening.

Chancellor Budd was meticulous. Passionate in his views. Poised and polished and utterly captivating to watch in action, his youthful, handsome features yet again cutting a distinctive image amidst the older, grizzled crowd surrounding him and peppering him sternly with questions. Julia watched with carefully concealed fascination as the other diplomats, at first visibly resistant to the flashy, expensive image of the young chancellor and no doubt assuming the least when it came to his intellect, soon began to lean in and recognize the brilliant mind at work beyond the flash. 

And by the time the dinner had finished and dessert had arrived, most if not all of the officials present would’ve willingly eaten it out of the palm of Budd’s hand, clearly taken with the young politician’s conviction and swept up in that heady, powerful charisma that he possessed in spades. 

“Very good, Mr. Budd. Impressive,” one of the female diplomats remarked with real praise warming her words, shaking the chancellor’s hand firmly while the others rose to follow suit. “And when will your bid for PM begin? Surely you’ve considered the post, given your popularity. Which, I might add, is well-deserved in your case…”

Budd offered a short, modest nod of thanks, smiling at the murmurs of agreement in the wake of the diplomat’s statement. “Soon. Penhaligon’s hardly gotten the seat warm. But I have every intention of becoming PM well before he gets too comfortable.”

“You have my support. Truly extraordinary. If you need anything more—”

“I will not hesitate,” the chancellor finished, shaking the last few hands and bidding a crisp farewell as the diplomats and their security teams departed. Julia watched Budd stand for a few seconds more before he huffed out a long, weary sigh, the line of his shoulders sagging a bit beneath the expert cut of his dark suit.

“Chancellor?”

“I’m ready,” he intoned quietly, turning to her and confirming her unspoken question. She rose, transmitting her directives to the team waiting outside while Tom rushed past them both to secure the exit. Budd gathered his case from beneath the table, checking his watch and noticeably avoiding the eyes of the other patrons in the restaurant, most of whom had been watching him all evening long with rapt attention.

“Sir,” Julia urged as she led him away from the table and through the restaurant, feeling some newly-hatched, inexplicable desire to protect him from the prying eyes and the insatiable interest of the people around them. Her principal followed at her side, jaw clenched and eyes remaining shuttered; she could practically feel the exhaustion seeping from his frame, mirroring her own as he shrugged into his coat and followed her out to the awaiting vehicle.

* * *

The interior of the truck was dark and cool, traffic light in the late hour as the team drove calmly through the city streets. Julia scanned the road silently, listening to the occasional message on its way to control, issuing a directive here and there to the driver to avoid a street or change their route. 

And found herself, much like the patrons in the restaurant and the insatiable media and the crowds from the afternoon rush, seeking out a glimpse of the chancellor.

Who hadn’t said a word since they pulled away from the restaurant.

Who sat in full view of her small mirror, head back against the leather headrest, eyes shut. The masculine, beautiful planes of his face illuminated by the glow of the city outside. His mouth, a touch pouty. Still not a hair out of place, though the lightest shadow of stubble had begun to notably roughen his cheeks. Julia could just barely make out the dark circles beneath his eyes, noticing the way he hardly bothered to flinch while the phone next to him on the seat chimed incessantly, begging for more of its owner’s depleted attentions.

And then they pulled to within a block of The Shard.

“A crowd’s waiting for the principal, Skip. Small, but significant.”

_Goddammit_.

She blew out an impatient huff, the sound making the chancellor stir and open his eyes.

“What is it?”

“Midnight inbound. Change of plans. Secure the back entrance,” Julia directed, instructing the driver to turn and go around the block.

“People waiting outside?”

“You guessed it,” she replied tersely, eyes on the new route. Budd sighed again, rustling around in the back as he peered out at the entrance of The Shard and came to a quick decision.

“Let’s go through the front.”

“Sir, that’s inadvisable.”

“Sergeant, that’s politics. I have to be visible.”

“No, you need to be safe,” Julia corrected him firmly.

“That’s why you’re here, isn’t it? Armed to the teeth? Wearing a vest?”

“Sir—”

“We’re going through the front,” he said in a voice that brokered no further argument, Julia reluctantly reversing her orders to her driver and team while she threw a hard glare at the chancellor in the backseat. He wasn’t looking at her, staring out instead at the assembled crowd, the light from the streetlamps pouring in through the tinted windows and falling upon his features. 

And she caught it for the first time as he turned forward again and cast his eyes ahead, resting his head back against the seat, mouth clamped into a terse line.

Those eyes. 

Those same empty eyes she’d seen before, vacated of any discernible emotion. 

Numbed-out, devoid of feeling.

The complicated man they belonged to clearly retreating from view even as the shiny, smiling husk of him emerged from the car, grinning for the cameras, his immaculate face doing the most to distract the masses from what was clear and painfully present beneath Julia’s all-too-knowing scrutiny.

She hustled him by the crowd quickly, mind still focused on the task at hand, hardly hesitating as she issued orders with automatic precision. Wondering at the enigmatic nature of the man beside her, who was most certainly hiding something else behind the sexy image and the charming flirtation; beyond the money, the suits, the politics; behind that faultless, dimpled smile that collapsed in on itself the instant the lift doors closed. 

Wondering just who exactly David Budd truly was.

And what, exactly, could account for the darkness she saw in him.

* * *

Settling the chancellor back into the penthouse for the evening was a mercifully-brief process; due to the sheer size of the dwelling, London Metro always sent a team out well in advance of their anticipated arrival time to do a cursory sweep of each floor and report any disturbances to the lead PPO.

Thus, two additional officers were waiting at the front door for Julia once she emerged with Budd in tow; she opened the double doors and allowed the principal to enter before inviting both inside and conferring quietly with them about the status of the premises.

“All clear, Skip. Confirmed via cameras downstairs that nobody has entered the premises, save for the maid,” the constable confirmed, handing Julia an itemized document. She scanned it briefly before handing it back, thanking them and dismissing them both for the evening. It was well past time for her to go as well; the reins of exhaustion were ever-present, threatening to pull her down if she didn’t get some proper rest soon. Julia sighed, closing the doors behind the officers and turning to give the chancellor his evening rundown.

“All clear, sir,” she said, pausing to notice that she’d essentially recited the words to an empty living room. _Where was he? _

“Chancellor?”

She heard the sound of ice clinking in glass, the twist of a cap being pried off. Followed the familiar noises, soon aided by the voice of the man himself.

“In here.”

An alcove, containing a small mini-bar. Tucked away in one corner of the massive room. Budd stood behind the counter, hair rakishly tousled, his jacket and tie removed, shirt buttons undone and a bit of toned, hairy chest just visible beneath the starched cotton.

Julia swallowed, clearing her throat. Feeling just a touch warm despite herself. Watching as he poured liberally from a single crystal bottle of amber liquor, the likes of which looked more expensive than the entirety of Rob’s fairly extensive wine collection back home. 

“Scotch?”

“No drinking on duty, sir.”

“Ah.” The chancellor topped it off before lifting it to his lips and taking a sizable swig, closing his eyes momentarily. Julia tried not to notice the way his throat undulated as he did so, failing spectacularly in the process and averting her eyes somewhere, _anywhere_, else in the room.

“Security check is done. No activity to report, chancellor. I’ll leave you to your drink. See you tomorrow morning.” She nodded her goodbyes, turning on her heel to leave.

“Could you spare a moment, sergeant?”

Julia stopped in mid-stride, heaving a long, quiet sigh as his simple request unleashed a torrent of bleak, frustrated thoughts.

-_No. Please. _

_I’m tired. And hungry. It’s late. I’m done._

_It’s enough that you’re a prick. _

_It’s too much that you’re an attractive one, to boot. _

_I can’t.-_

She found herself tensing up as she turned back around, forced to answer in the affirmative even as every last cell in her body wanted to ignore him entirely in favor of bolting straight out the door. 

“Yes, sir. Something the matter?”

Budd stared at her with those unnerving eyes of his, the slightest hint of what looked like remorse playing in their depths. 

“I’m…feeling the unusual urge to apologize to you for today. Which is not my forte, mind you. Please don’t get used to it. And forgive me if this comes across as rather…inelegant.”

_What._

Julia blinked twice, unsure she’d heard him correctly. Her analytical mind already searching for the ploy, the motive, the missing angle. “Sir?”

“You mentioned the other PPO’s deserting the post. That jab was entirely justified. I wasn’t very…sensitive to the demands of what you do,” he stated honestly, coming from around the bar and approaching her with slow, measured steps. “I know it’s a lot. The crowds, the media. The truth is that it all just sort of…happened one day. And kept growing.” 

Julia nodded, remaining quiet. Budd looked down for a moment, huffing a sigh of his own and shaking his head before continuing on.

“And I get that it can be…detrimental, to an extent. I just want you to understand that I have to accept enough of it to get to where I need to be. I know it’s a risk. And I’m grateful that you’re cognizant of that fact and handling it like a professional.”

She barely knew what to say, the surprise at hearing something so close to an apology leaving his lips stunning her into relative silence. He was peering at her as he took another sip of scotch, appearing slightly anxious in the wake of his sentiments.

“Fair enough,” Julia managed, witnessing his anxiety ease the tiniest degree as the corners of his mouth turned up. They stood there for a long moment, neither of them seeming to know what to say. Budd took another measured sip, tilting his head to regard her amusedly in the ensuing, awkward silence.

“Anytime you’d like to make that apology mutual…”

“Pardon, sir?”

“I mean, you were pretty harsh, Julia. Despite your assertions, I really don’t have much of an ego. And I think my charm is pretty authentic for a Scotsman. We have a pretty tough reputation to overcome.”

Julia was floored. _Was he attempting banter? Flirting with her? What was this, exactly?_

“The truth hurts, chancellor,” she replied, masking her disbelief with a crisp, pithy comeback. Budd mimicked a shot to the gut at her statement, groaning aloud softly.

“Ouch.”

“And you’re still using my first name. Despite being asked not to. I’d assumed I was clear.”

“Is it a crime to use your first name, Julia? Are you going to arrest me? It is a nice name…”

_What on earth_. He was smiling again, his dimples emerging, a certain hint of cheekiness to his expression as his eyes twinkled attractively. 

Whatever this was, Julia needed it to stop. Right now.

“Chancellor…”

“It's beautiful. Suits you well,” he added innocently, taking another sip of his drink while his gaze never left hers.

_God, this man_. 

“Is this how you get over? Calculated flattery?” Julia accused, truly miffed at the fact that he was trying to charm her, and even more pissed that it was actually _working_. She straightened her spine, put a little coolness in her glare even as her pulse fluttered rapidly in response. “I think you know full well you’ve got the wrong woman.”

“And yet you’re blushing.”

Julia needed to leave. Right now. He was much too good at this.

Budd continued on, heedless of her state of crisis. Took a languid stroll over to the artfully-arranged plush leather couches, signaling for her to follow in his wake. “Titles sound too formal. I’d prefer to use your first name, truly. But I get the feeling you’d shoot me yourself if I use it again.”

“I’m armed at all times, chancellor. Make of that what you will.”

He arched an eyebrow at that, taking a seat as she did the same before settling back and bringing his slightly heated gaze to hers. “I might take the risk.”

Julia said nothing, not trusting herself to reply with how dry her mouth had suddenly become. Daring to return that dangerous stare as he swirled the ice in his glass. The city lights twinkled in her periphery, the breathtaking view of London from beyond the glass walls stretching before them, the vastness of it all making their dimly-lit perch seem cozy and intimate by comparison.

“You like the power that comes with that title, don’t you?” he mused in a low murmur, eyes narrowing as he sized her up yet again. “You’re a woman who craves control.”

Julia raised her chin. “I am in control, sir. You can’t crave what you already have.”

“But you could always have more.”

She ceded his point with a nod, Budd acknowledging it with a tiny raise of his glass.

“That being said, I really hate being called ‘chancellor’. Makes me sound roughly 95 years old. David is fine. Or Dave, if you prefer.”

“Very good. Sir.”

She saw his lips quirk at her deliberate side-step. He took another sip of scotch, staring at her pensively.

“So you were a pilot. One of the best, if John is to be believed.”

“I was.”

“In the RAF for how long?”

“Ten years.”

That direct stare lost focus momentarily, Budd looking down briefly and busying himself with idly studying the glass in his hands. “My da was an officer. In the army for years. Never spoke about his service, but I always wondered...”

“There are parts of it that are easy to talk about. And other parts are…best left in the past,” Julia admitted, hesitant to engage. Feeling that same tight sense of anxiety that she’d felt earlier in the day returning to form the longer they continued on the matter.

“John mentioned you would’ve been a career military officer.”

“I considered it, sir.”

“But that there was an incident. In Iraq. A major one.” The chancellor paused, no doubt sensing her discomfort but clearly curious enough to proceed. “You were lucky to survive, according to him. He spared me the greater details, but what little he did share…I’m not sure how you did, either. Incredible.”

“Yes.”

She said nothing more. Folded her arms and stared at the floor, well and truly getting the point across without another word. Julia heard Budd shift uncomfortably, the air between them growing cool again as he rose, obviously willing to drop the subject and call it an evening.

“Well. You’ve turned down a good, stiff drink. And the penthouse is secure. So unless you’d like to stick around and watch me generate fiscal budgets and expenditure reports for Parliament…”

Julia rose too, straightening her suit and trying to return to some sort of normalcy: ignoring the irritating pressure behind her eyes, the tremor of her hands, the sudden vise-like ache of her throat. “Sounds exciting. But I’d better stop holding up the support vehicle, sir.”

“David,” he reminded her teasingly in a low tone, the effect of the scotch causing him to gently slur his own name. “It’s not a curse word. And we’ve already made it crystal clear that nothing’s going to happen between us. You’re still a cop and a spy. Totally untrustworthy. I’m still an insufferable asshole, hell bent on attention at all costs. Right?”

She had to crack the barest hint of a smile despite herself. “Right.”

“Good.”

With that, the chancellor turned away from her, tossing a casual ‘goodnight’ over his shoulder as he made his way back to the bottle of scotch on the counter. 

And Julia slipped beyond the doors and departed for the evening, her mind in utter upheaval and emotions heightened as she made her way back to the precinct before returning home.

* * *

Dismayed to settle into bed later that evening. Lying awake in the dark, breathing in time to Rob’s light snoring.

Finding herself musing about a pair of potent, mercurial blue eyes. 

The timbre of a low, deep voice. The alluring scent of scotch and leather and sweet, musky cologne. 

And the memory of a well-shaped mouth, tempting in its decadent fullness. 

Persisting in Julia's scattered thoughts well into the depths of another quiet, restless night.


	4. Looking Back

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Advancing onward. Nice long chapter. Please heed the new warning tags. There's a famous British show mentioned that I own no rights to, but adore all the same. Enjoy. :)  
-Candi

* * *

_This time it started with her laughter._

_Julia wishes it did every time. _

_Misses the rich, lilting sound of it._

_Rebecca, her co-pilot and closest friend. Joking with the guys in the back. Taunting them over the comm system._

_“You’re both absolute shite at flying. Ace, back me up here…”_

_And Julia hears herself chuckle. Feels herself grin even as the helicopter wavers a little, buffeted by desert winds, flicking a few switches to adjust the rotors and steady the flight._

_Utterly unaware of the missile heading their way._

_The sudden rush of air, rocking the cabin violently as the first one zoomed past._

_Her mouth, opening to scream. The detector finally sounding._

_And the second missile, hitting the tail end dead-on before the sound ever left her throat._

_\--------_

_Falling._

_Winds._

_Screaming._

_Darkness._

_\--------_

_Hands._

_Tugging her wrists. Dragging. _

_The feel of the dense sand beneath her legs parting, leaving a trail._

_Her head, throbbing hard._

_Seeing red. _

_Blood caking her eyelashes as she cracks her eyes open, squinting against hot, invasive sun. _

_Ears ringing._

_The coarseness of a hood being pulled over her face._

_Light replaced abruptly by dark. _

_She feels herself being lifted. Flipped over. Roughly handled. Hands tied behind her back._

_She struggles, to no avail. Breath coming fast, stabbing pains in her chest and side and back flaring to life._

_Her body hefted a short distance. Dropped in a heap on a hard, flat surface._

_A cacophony of Arabic, rapidly spoken. Male voices, blunt and harsh. _

_The rumble of an engine coming to life. Rattling her bones._

_She feels broken ribs grind painfully against each other with every inhale._

_There’s a sharp thud amid the growl of the engine. _

_A cry._

_Rebecca._

_She squirms desperately toward the sound. _

_Wrists twisting furiously against rope that refuses to yield._

_“Beck! Beck, I’m he—”_

_Something hits the back of her head. _

_Hard._

_Twice._

_And the real darkness settles in._

* * *

The run isn’t nearly long enough.

The shower loses its warmth far too soon.

And the tears run dry long before Julia can compose herself enough to emerge.

* * *

_03/11/18_

_No pills._

_Day two._

_\---------_

Julia stood dully at the counter in her robe, waiting for the kettle to heat. Waiting for the throbbing in her ankle to subside. Willing the _urge_ away, bit by tenuous bit. Sparing a red-eyed glance at the clock on the microwave.

_5:57 am._

She’d managed at least three and a half decent hours before this latest nightmare. 

At least 200 minutes of uninterrupted rest before the laughter and the freefall and the fetid stench of the hood cloaking her frightened, tear-streaked face all rushed back in vivid, terrifying detail. 

Before that threatening rumble of the engine hummed to life in her traumatized psyche and set off a series of horrific memories that all the pills and brutal 20K runs and scalding hot showers in the world couldn’t even _begin_ to abate.

She’d awoken with a silent scream lodged like a balled-up rag at the base of her throat, bolting upright in a frigid sweat, the covers tangled tightly around her quivering limbs. 

Swept a frightened gaze around her, struggling to breathe, to regain her bearings. It was too dark, much too dark; Julia reached out frantically, her hands scrabbling against the nightstand, finally feeling the lone cord dangling from the lamp and yanking it hard, dousing her side of the bed in tepid light. 

Rob was nowhere to be found.

Had probably left the minute he sensed her distress.

And so Julia suited up alone in the quiet of the night. 

Pulled on her battered trainers. 

Went for a run around 2:30. Got back by 4. 

Showered.

Grieved.

Journaled for a bit.

Ignored the _urge_, gnawing away at her resolve. 

Got over it all as best she could, as quickly as she could, by herself. With as little fanfare as possible, as little disturbance as she could possibly manage.

Trying to deny the undeniable: that her nightmares were getting significantly worse lately. 

And that she, in her foolish attempts to lessen the blows alone, to get on with her life and manage the pain on her own; to never, EVER give that bloody bastard the satisfaction of having set her back years and years in her efforts to heal and move on, had unwittingly created an even bigger monster in her life.

Sitting innocently in the cabinet, just above the fridge.

Resting in its bottle. 

None the wiser to the tired, pale woman below who was beginning to crave and hate it in equally frightening degrees. 

Who was beginning to find, after months of harmlessly taking a few here and there, shaking out a couple or more in her palm and swallowing them with a nonchalant sort of defiance, that they was starting to consume her instead of the other way around.

_Fuck. _

Julia was far too strong for this. She _knew_ this.

She could stop whenever she wanted.

She could.

And yet...

_**No.** _

_Just…no. _

_You’ve gone without for two whole days. _

_And yes, you feel like utter shite. But still._

_Make the bloody tea, Julia. Take something weaker. Just--_

“Julia?”

She startled from her troubling thoughts, straightening up as Rob peered at her from the kitchen entryway. His hair was tousled, the frayed sleeves of his robe catching her eye as he dragged a hand across his face blearily. 

“Morning,” Julia rasped, her voice creaky from disuse. Feeling a familiar brand of shame crumple over her with the knowledge that she’d likely disturbed his sleep yet again, that he’d been forced to relocate to the guest room like he used to do all those years before. One more item to add to the list of lamentations, though there wasn’t much she could seem to do about it lately that _didn't_ come out of a bottle.

She found herself fidgeting a little with her own sleeve, clearing her throat in the silence before mustering up an apology.

“I’m sorry if I—”

“It’s fine,” Rob offered emptily, cutting her off with a tired wave before wandering over to the cupboard and selecting a mug from its recesses. “The water ready?”

“It is.” 

She turned, shook the leaves into the strainer. Handed him another. Rob did the same, selecting his own brew. Neither of them meeting each other’s eyes as Julia hefted the kettle, pouring the water carefully over the tea for his cup, then hers.

“Cream?”

“Yeah, sure.”

More silence. Rob let it steep before brushing past her to get to the fridge, opening it and retrieving the small jug before shutting it and offering it to her first. Julia accepted it without a word, removing her strainer and pouring the cream, watching the sepia liquid turn a milky tan.

“Right.”

She watched him from the corner of his eye as he said the lone syllable, then shut his mouth. Reconsidered. Sighed. Tried again.

“Do…you want to talk about it, Jules?” 

A finely wrought mixture of doubt and hesitation underscoring every single word.

Julia stopped pouring. Placed the jug down, slid it over. Eyes remaining on her cup, still watching the cream swirl idly around.

_Maybe._

_Maybe that would help. _

_Maybe she could stop shutting him out._

_Stop being so goddamn stubborn._

_Accept his help. _

_Tell him about the pills._

_Share her fears._

_Let him be there for her again, like in the past._

** _Trust him._ **

At that, Julia felt herself begin to break. 

Felt her eyes filling with tears at the mere thought of _finally _letting him in after all these years. Of letting her guard down and telling her husband exactly, and in no uncertain terms, what had happened to her. 

What she could reliably recollect, in gruesome and unrelenting detail. 

What remained blurry and obscure, yet even more difficult to bear.

All the things she suppressed and blunted and blotted over, ruthlessly shoving aside in the fading hopes it would all go away. 

Everything all the pills and the running, the shooting and the tough, fuck-off demeanor and suits and ballistic vest and Glock and badge and the lofty responsibility of guarding the highest-profile politicians in the entire country had been helping her obscure carefully from view.

The demons that awakened her, night after night. 

What continued to haunt, to hunt down and kill away any semblance of peace or comfort she could manage to conjure.

What she’d heard and seen and felt. 

What she’d suffered and _endured_.

In that dank, musty safehouse all those years ago, at the hands of her captors.

In the confines of a dim, quiet study one night. At the hands of Penhaligon.

Maybe it was the right time to share, before it got any worse. 

In the right place, here in their home. With the right person, who’d taken a vow years ago to love her through thick and thin, who’d proven himself in the past by standing by her side through the pain of her earlier recovering years.

Julia realized then that despite the recent chilly distance that lay between them and the dismal lack of communication that had befallen their marriage lately, she _needed_ Rob. 

Now. More than ever before.

And maybe speaking up required a much more subtle display of strength she’d been neglecting all along. A courage that could see her through to the other side of this silent, worsening battle that was wearing on her, little by little, day by troubled day.

Maybe if she spoke up, here and now, he’d understand.

Julia kept her gaze down, resolving to speak. Nodded to herself. Took a deep, shuddering inhale before attempting her first word.

“I—”

A ringtone shattered the tense air, both of them nearly jumping out of their skin as the front pocket of Rob’s robe jingled and vibrated loudly. He reached into his pocket to silence it, eyes widening when he took a look at the display.

“Oh, sorry love. I’ve got to take this,” he rushed out, accepting the call with a hastiness that bordered on palpable relief. Blustering out of the room, heedless of the over-brewed tea and the cream growing warm and the deserted wife standing stock-still at the counter, lips still parted in mid-speech, staring after him with a crestfallen dismay that hardened over almost immediately.

Turning into an emotion that was much more useful. Far less fragile.

And much more familiar these days.

\--------

** _Fuck him._ **

_And fuck these nightmares. Fuck this useless journaling._

_I’ll handle it myself._

_Whatever it takes._

* * *

Her eyes were dry.

His tea was tossed. The cream replaced. The mug rinsed and put away.

Julia sipped. And stewed. Watching the twilight disappear.

Feeling the urge again. 

Letting her mind wander up above the fridge. 

Mentally calculating what she had left in that one. 

And the one in the bathroom. 

The one in her nightstand. The one in her desk at work. The one in her bag.

\--------

Got the bottle down. 

Shook out three. Downed them with the remnants of her tea.

Marched to the bedroom. 

Put on her vest, dressed, and was out the door before Rob even bothered to finish up his call. 

Julia slammed the front door as hard as she dared, feeling the hinges rattle furiously in her wake.

* * *

“Did you eat?”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Julia.” Kim stared at her, hand on hip, a warning in her normally patient green gaze. She was sitting at the edge of the island in Kim’s modern, well-sized kitchen, waging a silent war with her bossy friend even as the delightful aroma of whatever she’d been cooking wafted enticingly past her nose.

“That’s not what I asked.”

“I’m not—”

Before Julia could finish her second attempt, three steaming pancakes were placed in front of her, folded over, a tiny bowl of fruit resting between the cakes and the edge of the plate. Kim daintily sprinkled a little powdered sugar on top to complete the picture, looking far too proud of herself as Julia sighed in exasperation.

“Go on. New recipe. Now eat. You’re wasting away. Stressing a lot. Running too much. Don’t think I didn’t see that limp, Julia. Just shut up and eat the bloody pancakes.”

“Yes, mum,“ she groused in response, eyeing the plate before her. It was much too pretty _not_ to eat, in all honesty. 

Julia cut a piece off with her fork begrudgingly, her grumpiness evaporating as the thin, delicious pastry veritably melted in her mouth. For all the resentment she’d exuded at being ordered to eat, she had to admit that Kim was an amazing cook.

She talked around a mouthful, spearing another piece while she heard her stomach growl in anticipation of more. “Is this your audition for that baking show you’re always yammering about? The…”

“Great British Bake-Off,” Deepak supplied helpfully, entering the kitchen with perfect timing and finishing off Julia’s question. He leaned over the island to give Kim a kiss before widening his eyes dramatically at her latest creation. “Ooo, very nice. I’m a lucky bloke, aren’t I? Married my own ‘star baker’…”

“I’m a copper, love. Not a baker,” Kim corrected with the barest hint of modesty, the pride still light in her eyes as she chided him. “I deal in gunpowder and bullets. Not flour and cake tins.”

“You could do both. Not mutually exclusive.”

“I’d rather bake for you alone. The rewards are far better,” she deliberated in a seductive voice, grabbing his tie and pulling him close. “C’mere…”

“Ugh. Newlyweds. Enough! Honeymoon over!” Julia groused comically, watching her closest friend and her chief inspector kiss yet again. She’d been in their wedding party just over two years ago, serving as bridesmaid to their happiest day, and it was as if no time had passed at all; their affection clearly hadn’t waned in the least. The pan on the stove began to lightly smoke, the scent of overcooked batter beginning to fill the kitchen while the two continued to smooch. “Your pancakes are burning, too. What sort of star baker lets that happen?”

“The sort that’d rather steal a kiss from a handsome chap than impress Paul Hollywood,” Kim replied saucily, kissing Deepak one last time before relinquishing his tie. “You headed in?”

“Yes. Catching a ride in with Julia, I take it?”

“In a few. We’ve got some items to sort out before we get to the department. If you’ve seen her desk lately, you’ll know why I insisted on us meeting here.”

“Excuse me!?”

“I have. We should just burn it. Start over. There’s duty rotas on there that’ll never, ever see the light of day,” Deepak agreed solemnly, incurring Julia’s mock-wrathful stare. “They deserve to be put out of their misery.”

“Are you not late, Chief Inspector Sharma? Is there not some poor constable awaiting your hard-arsed scrutiny?” Julia urged, smiling despite herself as he winked at her. Being around the two of them felt like such a grand departure; their good-natured energy a welcome contrast to all else in her life at the moment, especially the disquieting, taciturn fog that had settled over her own home and marriage as of late. She and Rob had never *quite* been the lovebirds that Kim and Deepak obviously were, their love having rested more on a mutual admiration of each other’s strengths, on the ways in which they complemented each other and cared deeply about the other’s well-being than any sort of flirty, light adoration or heavily burning desire. 

And so Julia found herself wistfully soaking it in, genuinely happy for her friend, a tiny, fond smile gracing her mouth as she kept her eyes down and continued to eat while they said their goodbyes. Kim lingered at the front door until Deepak had fully departed, returning to the kitchen and heaving a deep, contented sigh.

“He’s wonderful.”

“I know. You’re perfect for each other,” Julia returned agreeably, negotiating her words around a mouthful of food. Kim nodded, folding her arms, her smile falling just a little as she focused in on the woman in front of her.

“Are…things with Rob improving?” she broached gently, her concern subtle yet obvious. Kim knew Rob well enough, having gone out to an event with them both here and there in the past, and from the wedding itself. Julia hadn’t let her in on the extent of their recent troubles, however, mentioning in passing one morning over coffee how distant everything was beginning to feel between them. And today certainly wasn’t the day to elaborate on that any further than necessary.

“Everything’s about the same,” she replied in as flat a tone as she could manage, hurrying to finish up, dipping the last of the pancake in cream. “I’m assuming you have something to share involving the leads I asked you to follow up on?”

“I’m here for you, Julia,” Kim said softly, brushing aside the obvious attempt to change the subject. “I want you to know that. If you need to talk…about anything. Not just work.”

_Don’t. Please. Not today._

Julia swallowed the last bite down past the lump in her throat, not meeting Kim’s eyes for a long moment as she waited for the unexpected swell of her emotions to pass. Pushed it all down successfully. Collected herself enough to respond with the perfect amount of stoic poise, even if she was clearly convincing nobody but herself at this point. 

“I’m fine. I’ll keep it in mind. Thanks.”

Kim sighed for an entirely different reason this time as she turned away and gathered her shoulder bag from its perch on the counter. 

“Fair enough. Come over here to the table. Lots to go over.”

By the time Julia had risen, cleaned up after herself and made her way to the table, no fewer than 30 documents and photos had been spread across its surface, arranged in a neat tree of sorts. Kim scrutinized the last one before putting it down closest to the bottom, Julia glancing at it and doing a double-take with no small amount of surprise.

“Is that…?”

“The chancellor, yes. At 12 years of age,” Kim affirmed, Julia picking the picture up and staring incredulously at a painfully-skinny, pale boy with freckles and a light brown buzz cut frowning right back at her, his blue eyes gravely serious. He appeared to be in a schoolyard of sorts, standing among other peers his age. Dark marks adorned his arms. Another suspicious mark, like a bruise, appeared to border the edge of a tightly clenched jawline. “You asked me to dig, and I dug. It’s slow-going. Took four weeks, and there’s still more to this than you or I could’ve ever imagined. Deepak did a little heavy-lifting too, called in some secret favors up North. This is all still off-the-record, mind you. Sampson would flip if she knew about this.”

“I appreciate it, and yes, let’s keep it that way,” Julia agreed, her intrigue spiking considerably as her eyes darted quickly around the table. “Where does it start?”

“Glasgow, 1984,” Kim began, gesturing for Julia to sit. What followed would prove to be 15 straight minutes of detail after astounding detail worthy of a West End play adaptation, so much so that Julia sat there, stunned into silence, mind working overtime as Kim continued to elaborate.

She cut in finally after sitting there agape for some time, attempting to summarize.

“Ok, let me get this straight. David Budd…is not actually David Budd?”

“No. It’s doubtful. I have them running down potential names. But there’s no way the chancellor’s real birth name is David Budd, despite the birth certificate. We think he paid to have it changed in his early to mid-teens, or someone else with money paid to suppress his initial identity. His birth year on the certificate is suspect, too. Ages him by a couple of years.”

“And he was adopted. That part of his story checks out,” Julia recalled, musing about the notorious ‘rags-to-riches’ background cited in nearly every profile about the chancellor: the rise of a poor young man from Scotland who pulled himself up from a shite, hard-scrabble youth into a Cambridge-educated, multi-billionaire tycoon. One family was only ever cited in the tale, and by all accounts his had been a typical middle-class foster home. 

“Perhaps that explains the name change? But not by the family he says...”

“He was adopted, by no fewer than…three families in the nineties,” Kim concluded, rechecking her notes, pointing to a record of foster care families. “The record’s been altered within the past few years to reflect the new name. The family he cites refuses to go on the record about anything related to him. They never attend his functions, nor is there any evidence of visits between them within the last ten years. One moved out of the country. Another was an elder couple, long since deceased.”

“And the tattoo?”

“A scorpion, wrapped in parchment. Gaelic words: Earbsa, Urram, Neart, Cinneadh. Roughly translates to trust, honor, strength, and family. Nice drawing, by the way,” Kim complimented, lips pursing as she looked over at Julia slyly. “I didn’t know you had that talent.”

“I did a bit of art in secondary school, and in therapy after the war,” she explained absently, picking up the drawing and peering at it again with fresh eyes after these latest disclosures. “Haven’t really continued on with it since.”

“And that’s on his left shoulder, correct? That’s the only one?”

“Yes. Didn’t really see any other tattoos, just the scars on his back. In light of those marks on his body in the picture, I’m wondering about the origin of those scars as well.”

“Julia.”

She looked up at the note of curious amusement in Kim’s voice, meeting the other woman’s wide, questioning gaze with unfortunate naïvete. “What?”

“Care to explain to me how you_ know_ the chancellor doesn’t have any other tattoos? It’s the only obvious question here.”

_Oh._

“I…our first meeting was…unusual,” Julia hedged, not really wanting to get into detail, hating the way the admittedly heated encounter flashed back through her thoughts, flustering her yet again. Kim was a master of tells, too, her focus unerring as she refused to let it slide.

“How so, love? Pray tell.” Her inquiry innocently posed, eyebrows raised high. There was no way to get out of this without the barest hint of an explanation, was there?

“We were in his bedroom. I was trying to rush him out. And he just happened to…not be wearing very much at the time.” Julia felt her cheeks heat up as she uttered the words, hoping it would suffice, hoping they could move on from the topic of her intimate knowledge about her principal’s...lesser-known physical attributes. 

_There. Let it go_.

No such luck. In fact, quite the opposite. Kim’s eyebrows nearly jumped clear off her face.

“Excuse me?”

“Kim. Focus,” Julia sighed, exasperated at the scrutiny. “There’s more important things at stake here.”

“You saw that gorgeous man fully naked, and all you drew for me was the _tattoo!?_”

“Kim!”

“You didn’t even tell me! I can’t believe you saw—”

“Can we please get back down to it, Kim? We’ve got to leave soon,” Julia shook her head, refusing to utter another word about that encounter, or any other feelings pertaining to the matter of the chancellor. Four weeks on, and there was already _so much_ between herself and Buddthat she was honestly trying to untangle herself, let alone allowing it to derail the crucial bits of the investigation. She clamped down on all of it, refusing to budge, making a hard right turn back to the more germane aspects of their conversation. “More on the tattoo?”

“Indeed. I ran the identities of the men who work his private detail using the surveillance in the penthouse lobby. And as it turns out, one of them has the same _exact _tattoo as the chancellor,” Kim revealed, passing the mugshot over to Julia for a look. Now it was her turn to raise an eyebrow, the man in the photo identified as Jim McClary, the lead guard who had gotten in her face during that first day on the job. Same blonde buzz cut, same icy blue eyes. “His is on his calf, according to police records. But same design, same words…”

“Maybe a gang?”

“Possibly. We’re still running it through secret channels. It’s a design that’s favored among army personnel as well. Pretty popular, so it’s hard to narrow down exactly what inspired this particular pair of blokes to get it done. And there’s evidence that Mr. McClary has ties to organized crime.”

Julia peered hard at the face of Jim, then back at the picture of young David Budd, still glowering up at her from the table. The features of one of the boys in the schoolyard bore a passing resemblance…

“Could…this be young Jim McClary? Over here, to the left?” She pointed at one of the faces that were more out-of-focus, squinting hard as Kim rose and peered over her shoulder.

“It could be…”

“Possible to find out?”

“Anything’s possible,” Kim demurred, taking the photo from the table. She took it back over to her seat, writing a note to herself before slipping it back into the portfolio. “I’ll see what I can find, get back to you as soon as I can.”

Julia checked her watch, already discovering they’d gone far later than expected. “Sounds good, thanks. We’d better get going. Was that all for now?”

“Hardly. There’s still the matter of the threats themselves. Our young chancellor has a very complicated past,” Kim promised, indicating a couple more documents. She handed them over to Julia for perusal, with a caution to read them both in private and keep them confidential. “Ties to Penhaligon. Potentially heavy financial ones from well over a decade ago, if these transfers of funds are legit. Yet neither of them has ever disclosed these previous ties, nor has anyone else jumped on it. Wonder why?”

“Indeed.” Julia tensed immediately, chewing on her lip, her curiosity and alarm rising in equal proportion as she took a cursory glance. Tens of millions of pounds, transferred carefully through several banks. Into funds, into stocks. All under the authority of one D. Budd, private financial advisor. 

The date indicated, however, that he would’ve been _sixteen_ at the time these transactions took place. Which would’ve been illegal…

_Hence the birthdate swap_. Julia exhaled, her mind putting together the jigsaw of this latest wrinkle.

“Yes. Like I said. More to this than either of us anticipated. Next time I see you, I’ll have more to share,” Kim assured, packing up her shoulder bag. “And if you feel up to drawing the rest of the chancellor…”

“Kim. Stop.” Julia shook her head as they made their way to the front door. “It was a glimpse. Hardly noteworthy.”

“And yet you’re blushing.”

Literally the chancellor’s _exact_ words to her, that first night on assignment. Julia cursed beneath her breath, irritated at the fairness of her skin, irritated at her friend for teasing, freshly pissed at how easy it was for the merest mention of David Budd to get a reliable rise out of her these days.

“Shut up. Or walk.”

As if on cue, it started pouring, the two of them scrambling to open umbrellas beneath the tiny awning covering the front step. Kim laughed off her friend’s threat, nudging her side as they walked down the street in tandem towards Julia’s car.

“Yes, ma’am. Shutting up. For now.”

* * *


	5. More

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp. Here's a whole-ass chapter of just Julia & David. Heed the explicit rating. Enjoy. :)  
-Candi

_BANG._

_BANG. BANG._

_BANG._

She pushed a button, removed her ear protection. Brought the target uprange as she expertly exchanged her emptied magazine for another, the Glock warm and steady in her hands while she swiftly completed the maneuver.

Scrutinized her target sheet.

“Fine bit o’ shootin’, Sergeant,” the range master nodded approvingly, coming to assist. Julia muttered a curt thanks, knowing it was far from her best.

Knowing she was all sorts of distracted that morning.

“All set.” 

She pressed the button. Watched the fresh target sheet retreating downrange, the grating hum of the machinery loud in the drafty, deserted area. Replaced her ear protection, readied her stance. 

And waited.

Green light.

_BANG._

_BANG._

* * *

It was becoming harder and harder to guard the chancellor.

But not for the reasons she’d imagined.

\----------

Sure, Kim’s disclosures gave her quite a bit of pause.

The haunting image of Budd: young, rail-thin and sullen. Bruised.

The cold gaze of McClary.

Penhaligon’s name invoked, the familiar scrawl of his signature all over documents Julia was sure he’d gone to great lengths to keep buried all these years.

_More to come,_ she’d promised. Of that, Julia didn’t doubt.

But what she was beginning to doubt, more and more with each passing day, was her own ability to stay objective when it came to one David Budd.

* * *

Because there was nobody quite like **_him_**.

Nobody with the same powerful mix of magnetism and smarts, of unexpected humor and devastating good looks and a temper that could flare coupled with a considerable hidden warmth that could soothe.

And if only the chancellor would simply _uncomplicate_ everything by remaining within the narrow confines of the picture she’d painted of him that very first day; that of the rich, narcissistic asshole, of the man without a shred of concern for anyone else but himself. The primping, pampered, spoiled prince of the media, content to bask in the spotlight, as power-hungry and vapid as the rest of them.

But, true to form, David Budd was proving to be much more of an enigma. 

Not easily pinned-down, or categorized, or understood in discrete terms. 

Hardly ever predictable.

And what she couldn’t deny, after four weeks of heated argument and cautious chatter; of the wavelength between their temperaments fluctuating by the day as they cavorted in close quarters and observed each other at length; as they both carefully weighed words and negotiated trust and began to push each other’s boundaries little by little out of sheer curiosity, was that Chancellor Budd simply _intrigued _her.

To a thrilling extent. 

Much to her increasing dismay.

And Julia found herself wanting_ more. _

* * *

Oddly invigorated by those long, irritating days where he was every inch the arse she’d envisioned, the two of them practically at each other’s throats due to Julia’s insistence on a security measure or his undying stubbornness about taking undue risks to fulfill his public role. 

Budd’s eyes would flash, her voice would rise, and everyone within earshot was subject to their terse, cutting jabs until one or both of them stormed off to their respective spots, or he was led away by an assistant, or she was called away to her team, and Julia would lie awake in bed that night, blood still furiously astir as she replayed their conflict blow-by-blow, the level of her ire slow to abate.

\--------

_(She enjoyed the fight, truth be told.)_

_(Enjoyed watching *him* get flustered for a change.)_

_(Liked watching the color rise in his face, distorting those smug, handsome features. Admired the way his sonorous voice dropped another octave when he got upset, his accent thickening as he clipped his words.) _

_(Another inadmissible secret.)_

* * *

He’d watch her work.

Eyes shifting to hers in the mirror.

Listening in on her orders to the team as they rode through town. 

She’d figured it out quickly; how to manage the crowds, especially at the end of a long day. How to balance his need for exposure and her need to protect him.

How to get him in and out of restaurants and the like with as little fuss as possible.

She was steady and calm as she directed the team. Blunt when she needed to be, adamant on holding them all accountable. And slowly but surely, their days became easier to manage, the circus around him tamed to a startling extent as she used every last bit of her skill and training as a threat analyst to seal off areas and safely contain their party. 

There was a reason why Sampson had declared her the best in her department. That iceberg of a woman didn’t give praise freely, or without cause.

Blue eyes would flick up to meet hers in the rearview. Admiration relaxing his brow and lifting the corners of his mouth. And Julia would feel a little frisson of pride chase through her body as the chancellor aimed a small, respectful nod in her direction.

* * *

She’d get him through his busy day and back home in one piece, confer with the security team, bid them a quick goodnight. 

Walk into the living space to do the same for her principal, only to be greeted with the sight of the young politician, jacket tossed and shoes shed, curled up fast asleep on the couch and snoring softly. The lines of his face smooth, lips slightly parted, hair tousled askew from its usual perfect coif. 

She couldn’t quite explain why the sight of him asleep touched her so, made her feel even more protective than usual. Heart softening at the sight of the exhausted, rumpled man curled in the fetal position, all his usual bluster replaced by a sense of aching innocence and vulnerability. 

Of loneliness. 

She’d gather the throw from the next couch over, settle it over his body. Watch him stir just a little beneath. Whisper a goodnight as she departed for the evening, wondering at the traitorous thump of her heart in the wake of the quiet encounter.

* * *

He was becoming more generous with her as the weeks went by.

With his time. With his attitude around her. With his unexpected sense of humor, shared with her at random, his sneaky grin becoming a fast mainstay in the rearview mirror.

With the respect he’d started to pay to her and the team, the favors he’d slowly but surely begun to grant in her favor.

With the way he watched her. 

All the time.

Observant, attentive. Compliments here and there that felt genuinely given.

She’d cut her hair a week ago. Going to the salon for the first time in months, inexplicably needing a change. Had her mane lopped off to a chic, chin-length cut that welcomed back the natural curl and bounce of her hair.

It felt light, freeing. She felt good when she looked in the mirror afterward, liking what she saw for the first time in ages. And while Rob had taken one look at her and managed a paltry “it’s different” in response, Julia still felt a certain way when she thought of Budd’s double-take the following morning, his brows jumping in surprise, the particular cadence of the “very nice” he’d murmured warmly as he gave her an appreciative once-over.

\---------

Not that it mattered.

Not that she needed his opinion, his flattery. 

His frequent little side-glances at her throughout that day, that dimple in his cheek showing more often as he studied her quietly.

But.

* * *

_BANG._

_BANG._

Press button. Target uprange. Empty magazine. Reload.

_Another round?_

_Sure._

* * *

David Budd had a _dangerous_ charm. 

A sensuality that bordered on illegal, that he could wield to great effect whenever he wished. His looks alone were usually enough to get his way; Julia found herself inwardly rolling her eyes whenever he utilized it on some poor, unsuspecting journalist. One calculated lean-in, a deepening of his voice, a widening of those vivid blue eyes, a certain pout to his generous mouth as he pondered a question, and most souls found themselves utterly besotted with him, fumbling their words, all journalistic integrity lost in the transaction as he got his desired soundbite, headline, and narrative every single time. 

Men, women. It didn’t appear to matter. Both sexes were fair game.

But Budd seemed to take particular relish in seducing practically every female journalist he came across: granting a little extra time, making all sorts of potent eye contact, letting their handshakes linger, his Scottish brogue becoming especially suggestive as he promised a follow-up interview if they so chose. Julia had seen more than a few women waving themselves with notebooks as they departed, cheeks red and dazed smiles on their faces. She’d look back at him with an exasperated stretch of her lips; he’d laugh and shrug almost sheepishly, taking delight in her mock chagrin of his obvious tactics.

“Not my fault, Sergeant. Just doing my job.”

_Sure._

* * *

Needless to say, he had the press practically hypnotized.

Julia knew this. 

But seeing him in real action, up **close**…was another story.

\--------

He’d insisted on a stop two Fridays before. 

A new club opening up in Piccadilly, a promise he’d made to an owner to show up and provide some prestige. Julia had initially balked at the idea, citing security concerns; she’d gotten the owner on the phone immediately, laying down her stipulations for his appearance with a strictness that bordered on insanity. To his credit, the chancellor backed her up, blessedly not interfering in her plans as he made ones of his own.

He had his stylist team come out to 11 Downing with a fresh suit that afternoon. All black, sleek and statuesque, no tie. Square-toed boots. His hair teased up and back, the grey in his hair standing out handsomely. A fresh cologne that smelled incredibly masculine, clean and spicy.

Julia had paced that night, waiting for him impatiently in the corridor. Talking to her team in rapid bursts of communication, dictating every single detail down to the littlest facet, ensuring that everyone and everything was up to the highest par.

“Midnight protocol needs to be seamless tonight. No mistakes. I want 4-7 to be stationed at—”

He’d emerged just then.

Walked down the hall towards her, flanked by his team. Gave her a wink, buttoning his jacket with a suave motion before smoothing a hand over his hair.

Looking devastatingly **_sexy_**. 

There was no other worthy description.

Julia stopped talking abruptly. Just stared. 

And he stared right back.

“Skip? Skip, we lost you…didn’t get the rest of that message…”

“Uh, sorry, yes.” Julia turned away sharply and snapped back into professional mode, not missing the smirk Budd sent her way as he noticed her faltering speech. “We'll be right down. Midnight on the move. “

* * *

As it turned out, he’d enjoyed himself.

Thoroughly.

Inviting no less than three women back to the penthouse, as Julia found out the minute she and her gently inebriated principal made their way up to his penthouse floor.

The lift doors opened, and there they were. 

Tall, perfect bodies, skimpy dresses revealing legs for days on end. Lust hot in their eyes, mirroring his own as Julia walked a short distance away to confirm security clearance with the on-site team, watching out of the corner of her eye as Budd wasted absolutely no time engaging the brunette in a long, slow liplock. Filled his hand with the curved hip of a pale, waifish blond as she pressed shiny red lips to his neck, whispering in his ear. A striking woman with short hair and mocha skin let her fingers travel south, sliding her brazen hand down the front of his pants and squeezing, cooing her admiration. The chancellor sighed audibly, a heated sound that somehow went straight to Julia’s--

“No previous records detected, Sarge,” the constable responded, finishing up with a clearance that she’d barely caught a dozen words of. Truth be told, _nobody_ in the foyer was paying attention to their duties at that moment in time.

“Thank you,” she'd intoned stiffly, taking a couple of steps to the right and unlocking the set of double doors. Budd broke away from the kiss smoothly, sliding an arm around the waist of the brunette and another around the shoulders of the blonde as he guided them all inside. The brazen one began unbuttoning his shirt in transit; the other two girls tugging at his jacket playfully, wrestling it off of his body, discarding it to the floor.

Julia busied herself with work, ignoring him entirely. 

Ignoring the subtle tingle of awareness warming her body. 

Turning away entirely from the scene, the sounds, the laughter. The moans that grew more pronounced yet fainter the further Budd and his paramours disappeared into the penthouse.

She checked the security docs, signed off on all checks. Dismissed the on-site team for the evening.

And all that was left to do…was to notify her principal that all was clear.

* * *

It was an integral step. Part of protocol. 

She should’ve foregone it entirely.

She very well could’ve.

Falsified the report.

Let it go.

\--------

_Something else_ brought her up those stairs.

Past the discarded black shirt, draped artlessly on the banister.

The boots, kicked out of at the top of the staircase.

A lacy thong. Socks. Dress pants strewn across the floor of the shadowy hall.

\--------

The air felt humid. 

Still.

His bedroom door. Open just a little. 

Just enough.

\--------

Her heart raced.

Her lips parted.

She could hear him beneath the din of breathy sighs. A low, sustained groan.

\--------

_Shit._

_Turn around. Leave. Let it be. Let him have his fun._

_\--------_

The urge was too strong.

Julia crept forward. Her breath ceasing in her chest.

Peering through the cracked door.

\--------

The chancellor.

Gloriously naked. Bathed in the glow of the firelit room.

Sprawled on his back on black silken sheets, long bare legs stretched out. Filling his hands with the naked curves of the woman riding him with reckless abandon, her golden brown skin glistening with sweat as she cried out in sensual rhythm with the slap of their bodies. 

More nubile limbs, more questing hands. 

Worshipping him, reverently caressing his torso, caressing each other. Mouths meeting erotically. Breasts cupped in palms. Nipples playfully pinched.

His head was thrown back, eyes closed. The chiseled line of his chin edged in gold, the inviting shape of his lips as they parted, those raven curls in wild, furious disarray. The exquisite trail of dark, soft hair lining his broad chest. The tight snap of his narrow hips as he gave her _more_, forced himself upward into the tight sheath of her cunt, his fingers tightening on her ass as she bucked in response, breathy cries growing ragged and desperate, her spine arching as she gave herself over utterly to his control.

_My God._

* * *

Julia couldn’t look away.

Her lips were dry. 

Her own body awakening at the intoxicating display. 

Throbbing.

Yearning.

_Begging_.

\--------

Without warning he seized the woman fully about the waist, flipping them both, tossing her roughly to the sheets. She spread herself for him eagerly, welcoming his aggression, supple thighs wrapped around his waist as he savagely thrust into her heat, sweat dripping from his brow, flicking his tongue out to taste hers, a low growl rising from his chest as she moaned his name in a sexy purr.

** _David._ **

** _\--------_ **

He looked up suddenly, eyes smoldering hotly.

Straight into the wide, vast mirrored headboard. 

Straight at his reflection.

Straight at _Julia_.

Her heart stopped. 

\--------

He watched her. 

Watching him. 

Gaze utterly unperturbed.

Lips curling slowly into a dark, knowing smile.

* * *

_That was the night Julia dreamt. _

_In vivid, technicolor detail. _

_Playing out a scenario that had absolutely nothing to do with the war. _

_And everything to do with the chancellor.  
_

_Her limbs entangled in black silk sheets. His scent lingering heavily. That familiar delicious, spicy musk penetrating her senses. _

_Her naked breasts, gently heaving. Taut peaks, edged in the same golden glow from the fire._

_She was on her back, staring up at a ceiling that seemed miles away._

_And there was an ecstasy playing out between her thighs that she couldn’t place. _ _Some steamy, immaculate bliss that she couldn’t see, but she could certainly **feel.**_

_Touching her. Tasting her. Setting her aflame._

_She felt herself gushing, flowing. Quivering, trembling with the pleasure of it, unable to stop herself from pressing urgently towards the source. _

_Seeking, wanting, needing more._

_The dark sheet covering her nethers was shifting endlessly, restlessly. Begging to be unveiled._

_And yet she was content to lay there, receiving that pleasure. Opening herself to it, letting it consume her in waves of intense passion that rose to greater and greater heights, her toes curling and her fingers gripping the sheets, her breath stuttering, rapture overtaking every sense._

_She wanted to come. Desperately._

_She wanted nothing else._

_She was on that sweet, painful precipice, dangling on the edge, vibrating with the sheer sensation of it, hovering so **close**._

_The sheets shifted._

_A handsome face was revealed, second to none._

_Dark, wild curls with a wisp of silver. _

_A familiar pair of electric blue eyes, boring into hers._

_A shiny, pouting mouth._

_A long, slow, brazen flick of his tongue against her clit as he watched her. _

_Watching him._

_And Julia exploded._

_\-------------_

She’d awoken instantly.

Still throbbing, trembling, breathing hard. Shocked at the vividness of it all.

Sticky as hell. 

Lightweight sleep shorts moist, uncomfortable. Her legs tightly clamped together, fingers caught embarrassingly between her thighs. 

Her camisole clinging wetly to her sweaty skin.

Switched on the light, shocked to see plain plaid cotton sheets. The outline of Rob’s bare, freckled shoulder to her left.

He sighed, not even bothering to turn around.

Julia made the quickest escape yet to the confines of the shower stall. Making the water much cooler than usual. 

Trying her damndest to forget what she’d seen, what she’d dreamt. 

What she was obviously feeling with regard to her principal, which had to be roughly 18,000,000 different kinds of inappropriate.

_(Fuck.)_

And avoiding Rob’s eyes out of sheer, mortified guilt as she kissed him on the cheek later that morning before rushing out.

* * *

_BANG._

_BANG._

_BANG._

* * *

She hadn’t seen him since Friday. 

Had an entire two days to straighten herself out, let go of whatever ridiculous notions she had pertaining to the chancellor. 

So yes. Julia was adult enough to admit she was attracted to him. 

She was also enough of a professional to push that aside and focus on the task at hand. Faithful enough to the idea of her marriage NOT to actually seek to ever cross that line. 

But David Budd, for all the ways in which he infuriated her, obviously invigorated her in ways she hadn’t readily anticipated nor was openly willing to accept.

And here she was. Scrambling for a contingency plan.

\--------

“Sarge?”

The range master, coming in clear through her ear protection. Julia sighed in annoyance, holstering her gun and holding the small speaker button down.

“Yes?”

“Someone told the boss you’d finally showed up. Wants you in her office. Now.”

Expletives hovered in her throat, begging to be deployed at the mere suggestion of Sampson and the nuisance that came with an office visit. Just hearing the name made her headache generate in earnest.

“Who told her I was here?”

“Not me,” the range master insisted, hearing the accusatory edge to her words. “But I hope you have fun. Better you than me, honestly.”

“Right. Thanks,” she returned flatly, not appreciating the humor in the least. Julia jammed the button for the target recall, took out the magazine, racked the slide on her Glock a couple of times, and replaced it before shoving it back into her holster and stalking out of the range, determined to get the bullshit out of the way as quickly as possible.

* * *

As it turned out, Sampson had a perfectly good reason (for once!) to bring her into the office that day.

Julia arrived on site at the penthouse less than two hours later, outwardly calm and collected. Her cranberry-colored suit crisp and new, tailored to her frame, designed to conceal her ballistic vest to a startling degree. Gun holstered, comm gear in place.

Inwardly, however? Was a vastly different story.

“He’s in his room, Skip,” Tom tossed off innocuously in the foyer, Julia fighting not to react in the least to that announcement. “Today’s the big day. Parliament address. Tends to rattle him a bit.”

She nodded. “I’ll brief him, but I need to brief you first.”

* * *

Ten minutes.

Ten full minutes since she’d arrived on-site. Briefed the entire team on threat protocol, checked in with local authorities to ensure extra protection was in place. Noting that none of his usual hired goons were lining the corridors, glaring at her as she conducted her usual conference over comms.

And he had yet to emerge.

* * *

She had to knock. 

Had to confront him. 

Stifle the mortified guilt of their previous…encounter. Apologize if need be. Move on quickly. Do her job.

And pray that he was actually dressed this time.

Julia stood in front of the door. Took a deep breath. Knocked twice.

“Are you decent, sir?”

A muffled chuckle, coming through the wooden panel. She could just imagine the smug smirk adorning his features. “Like that would stop you, Sergeant.”

_God, she wanted to punch him. _

_So badly. _

_Knock that smirk out of commission permanently. _

Julia fought for control of her temper, feeling herself lose the battle as the seconds ticked by and the door didn’t open.

“Sir, just answer the question.”

“Define…decent.” 

_Ugh. Please._

“Chancellor. Please don't waste my time. Or yours.”

“Just get in here. I need your opinion.”

She turned the knob, thankfully walking in on a scene that resembled nothing like the previous two encounters she'd experienced in his room. The bed was perfectly made. The fireplace dark. London sparkled that morning, a fresh cold rain having given way to intensely bright sunshine that shone through the enormous windows.

And Budd stood before a full-length mirror, well-dressed in a sharp grey suit, hair immaculately styled and his usual clean-shaven appearance slightly more hirsute than usual. He was frowning at his image, tugging at the collar of the turtleneck he wore.

“About what?”

“Those old fucks at Parliament hate when I show up in turtlenecks. Too informal. Desecrates their traditions, their sensibilities. So. Hunter green, navy, or stay with the black?”

“Sir.” Julia was hardly in a mood to offer sartorial advice. “I need to discuss—"

His keen gaze broke away from the mirror momentarily, settling on her for a brief second before returning to his reflection. “That’s a good color on you, by the way. You should wear it more often.”

“I’m not here to discuss fashion. There’s been a new threat."

The chancellor mused aloud, as if she hadn’t just spoken. “I’m headed to Milan later in the month. Maybe I’ll kidnap you from Mr. Sergeant Montague for a week or so, bring you along. Think he’d mind?”

At that, Julia snorted, which was the exact response he’d hoped for. She watched that maddening grin emerge on his face as she walked further into the room, shaking her head at just how incorrigible her principal could be at times.

“You’re impossible.”

“Are you limping today, Sergeant? What happened?”

“Nothing. I’m fine.”

“Sleep well?”

_Hardly_. That had become their singular running joke, the fact that they’d discovered via idle conversation one day that neither of them slept well. It had inexplicably turned into a contest of sorts; who could get the least amount of sleep on any given day.

“Three hours, thirty minutes.”

“You beat me! I got four. Congrats.”

Julia sighed for what felt like the four hundredth time that morning. “Chancellor…the threat. What I’m here to protect you from. We need to discuss it. Now.”

Budd was adamant. “Pick one.”

“Wear the black.”

“Yes, ma’am. Now what is it?”

“A call placed to 11 Downing at ten this morning. A perfect vocal match to the more serious phone threats leveled against your life as of recent.”

The chancellor didn’t so much as blink. “It’s nothing.”

Julia folded her arms, frustrated at his dismissiveness. Scrutinizing his reflection as he remained facing away from her, still fussing with his appearance. 

“I’m not convinced it is. Prevailing theory of the day is that you’re using your speech on the economy to announce your PM bid at Parliament.”

“Not true.” He stripped off his turtleneck without warning, Julia turning away just as suddenly, praying her face didn’t flush. Now it was his turn to snort.

“Meek and modest today,” he teased lazily, reaching for another turtleneck laid out neatly on the bed and tugging it on. “Navy might show up better on camera, don’t you think?”

“There’s been a warning called in at your offices at 11 Downing,” she continued on, heedless of his efforts to fluster her as she pulled out her phone to read the threat in detail. “Scottish Gaelic. ‘Is e an-diugh an latha a ruith.’ Or—”

“Today is the day to run,” he translated, rolling his eyes. “Run for office? Run for my life? These arseholes can be unbelievably vague sometimes.”

“The latter, sir. Metro has traced it back to potential ties to the Scottish mob, a particularly violent group that deals in either ransoming or killing high-profile figures for exorbitant sums. There’s evidence that their reach might be closer than you think.”

“Mmm. You think I should go with a Cartier watch or a Chopard?”

Julia inhaled. Decided to take the risk.

“Jim McClary.”

At that, Budd stopped cold. 

Turned his head. His eyes darkening perceptibly as he looked straight at her.

“What about him?”

“Off the record? He’s a potential suspect. Has past connections to the mob—”

“Yes. PAST connections. Not present.” His voice had lowered, becoming much more vehement. Defensive.

“Sir, with respect, I feel that’s incredibly naïve—”

“Sergeant, drop it.” Budd was nailing her to the wall with his stare, a brand of chilling aggression in his eyes she’d never witnessed before. She felt a shiver chase down her spine, a little warning voice piping up in the back of her mind at his sudden, disturbing change in demeanor. “Walk away.”

Julia continued on, fearlessly determined despite the tension growing thicker and more suffocating by the second. She walked right up to him, lowering her voice, her words pointed and spoken low. 

“Because you know him. Personally. From your childhood.”

Budd flinched. 

It was minute, but it was **_there._**

And it spoke volumes.

“Walk away. I mean it.” His voice, dripping with absolute menace. His eyes voided of all emotion save for intense contempt as he refused to look away.

Julia stared right back. 

Outwardly brave.

But inwardly beginning to feel a real, unchecked fear.

Coming to the hard, damning realization that she had no idea who David Budd truly was. Or what he was honestly capable of.

“Are you threatening me, chancellor?” she queried coldly. Meeting his menace with a refusal to be intimidated, a refusal to back down.

And he flashed her a smile in response. A nasty, bitter one that held absolutely no humor. 

The blue of his eyes glacial, hard and icy as he glared at her one last time before turning away abruptly and resuming his stance in front of the mirror.

“We’re done here. Wait downstairs. In the hall.”

* * *


	6. Breathe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been far too long. It feels so good to post. :)  
Please enjoy.  
-C.

* * *

The day had become an unmitigated disaster long before Julia found herself out in the vast and winding maze of corridors that stretched the length and breadth of Westminster, head down and strides quick as she ducked the various passersby. 

Her breath was coming fast, much too fast; her head, throbbing in time to the loud clack of her heels on stone floors. Her chest felt tight as a vice, growing ever tighter the longer her quest took, the further she was forced to walk just to find somewhere secluded and quiet enough to calm the panic, step quickly away from the precipice of a full-blown attack. 

Julia hadn’t had one quite this bad in some time, feeling herself start to sweat, the press of dizziness closing in as she rounded yet another corner and encountered yet another endless hallway.

_Shit. Please. Don’t pass out, just get to the closest exit and get some air, just please don’t—_

Natural light shone down at the end of the hall, signaling an exit Julia had never been more glad to see, her respiration now alarmingly audible as she wheezed desperately for air. She reached the door, wrenching it open to reveal a small, exquisitely manicured garden, and shut it just as fast before crouching down to her knees and sagging forward.

_Breathe. _

_In_ _. Out. In. Out. _

Julia struggled mightily, closing her eyes, fighting for control.

Fighting back tears.

\--------

_Breathe, love._

_Don’t let him do this to you._

** _Don’t._ **

* * *

Julia only _thought_ she’d prepared herself pretty well for what was to come.

Which, for her, had consisted of ignoring the growing pit of dread deep down in her stomach entirely. 

Leaving that incident alone in her mind, walking away from it mentally at every turn, boarding it up like some abandoned, nightmarish movie set she never wanted to revisit the makings of, let alone relive in any sense.

She could pretend.

She could absolutely pretend it didn’t happen to her.

That it was some other naïve, weak, defenseless woman whom he preyed on that night. 

Not a highly-decorated former wing commander of the RAF who’d survived far, far worse in her time. 

Who’d gone through the agony of physical rehab, the countless hours of psychotherapy, the group sessions with other vets who felt a level of survivor’s guilt unlike anyone else on the planet, who’d been counseled and coached and challenged to rise above her past and find a way to persist despite her traumas. 

To find reasons to go on, to move forward, to feel whole again in a way that had felt close to impossible after Iraq.

She’d done well. Found a new ‘normal’ for herself: slowly relearning how to smile, how to laugh, how to make her peace and begin living again in earnest. Had even found the strength to reach out to her father, estranged as they were, and attempt to make things right (it hadn’t worked, but it was the most either of them had done in years.) Things with Rob had improved for a time, enjoying a closeness they hadn’t felt since before she was deployed, becoming more vulnerable and open with him than she’d been in years. Got into the police force, impressed enough superiors to rise pretty quickly in rank. Was drafted for specialist protection within 11 months of service, hit her stride quickly. Guarded a few foreign officials here and there, nothing serious or consequential.

Until she caught the eye of Roger Penhaligon one night at an event.

Who, as the chief whip of his party at the time and a Big Name in London’s foremost political circles, specially requested her protection the next day through his connections at the department. 

And who made all that progress, all that therapy and counseling and dogged persistence that Julia had been cultivating for years, utterly crumble to dust in the space of one fateful night.

* * *

She’d done her best to forget.

To pretend he hadn’t triggered her relapse. To pretend he didn’t matter at all.

Julia left his detail immediately. Gave little reason for her transfer, nor was she asked to elaborate further. Had let 18 long months go by without saying a word to anyone.

Numbly watching as her attacker gained even more prominence on the national stage. More status. More headlines, and airtime, and importance, and ultimately the office of Prime Minister of the United Kingdom.

They hadn’t crossed paths in all that time. Most of the low-level MPs and officials Julia had guarded in that time weren’t even close to Penhaligon in political clout.

But she knew, with the way Budd was gaining in popularity and aiming for that seat, that it was never going to be a matter of if, but _when_, it would happen.

She thought she’d been prepared. And she’d never been more wrong.

* * *

They’d met at the plaza just outside Parliament, swarmed by all manner of security and media salivating over this pivotal stand-off. The two titans of modern British government; one, young and brash and cocky, the other exuding a more mature, cultured arrogance. The tensions in the air were at an all-time high as Budd sized the Prime Minister up, extending his hand first, that perpetual insolent twist to his mouth firmly in place.

“Penhaligon.”

Pale blue eyes, cold and shrewd, narrowed as they regarded the younger politician. Penhaligon paused, making a notable show of his reluctance for all to see before extending his hand to his rival.

“Budd.”

Julia felt her own tension rise at the mere sound of that voice, clenching her jaw as she stayed well behind the chancellor and swept the surrounding crowd. 

_She’d be fine._

_She could ignore him. Disregard him. As if he wasn’t even there._

“Not only are you gunning for my office, but I see you’ve borrowed what was formerly my best asset.”

“Excuse me?”

“Sergeant Montague,” Penhaligon clarified in a voice like silk. She saw him nod towards her out of the corner of her eye, felt that disgusting gaze rake over her form. “Best PPO I’ve ever had. A true shame she deserted her post.”

_Fuck you._

_Oh my God, FUCK you._

Julia fought the ever-loving urge to draw her weapon. Aim, just as she’d done earlier that day, with pinpoint precision. And let her bullets loose into a more worthwhile target. She settled for clenching her fists until her fingernails bit hard into her palms, continued to cast her eyes over the surrounding milieu, ignoring the threatening pain erupting at the base of her skull.

Until a flash of familiar dark hair caught her attention, just behind Penhaligon.

Familiar brown eyes. A very familiar navy blue pinstripe suit.

And a look of surprise that thoroughly echoed her own.

\--------

Rob. 

Standing just to the right of the Prime Minister. 

In full brown-nosing mode, holding the esteemed red ministerial case, looking for all intents and purposes as if he’d been in Penhaligon’s entourage for quite some time. 

Guilt, apology, and a measure of defiance splayed all over his features as he regarded her silently from the other side of the scrum. 

Julia felt her fury rise, a fierce sense of betrayal cutting sharply through her chest as she stared back at her husband, eyes hard as hell, message crystal clear.

_So you’ve decided to say nothing about this._

He shook his head at her, pressing his lips into a stern line. 

_Not now._

“Sergeant?”

Budd’s distinct baritone, trying to get her attention. Julia snapped out of the battle of wills taking place, came back to herself, returned to form, mobilizing the in-house crew to escort the chancellor to the main chamber for his afternoon address to the rest of Parliament. All else, including confronting her scheming, simpering, weak excuse of a husband, would have to be tabled for a more appropriate time.

* * *

And she'd done well at first.

Doing her job perfectly. Full attention on the principal and his surroundings, full command of her team in place. 

Standing in the back as Budd stepped to the podium confidently to deliver his address. 

Noting the incomparably chilly reception, the glares, the murmurs of disapproval that followed his every move. This was markedly different, and clearly not the adoring crowd her principal was used to; he appeared to have few allies in the halls of Parliament, the disgruntlement with his spirited address to the assembled mass becoming louder and more hostile the longer Budd remained at the center of attention. He gave as good as he took, withstanding the gale of hostility as long as possible, his every retort all but shouted down as the temperature of the chamber grew even more heated and that normally collected, handsome exterior began to crack.

The chancellor was frustrated in a way she’d never seen him before, those blue eyes flashing with barely-repressed anger as the verbal melee continued and his few supporters offered tepid rebuttals in his defense. Julia watched on in dismay as he shot a gaze full of desperation and disgust at his mentor, Mike Travis, who sat close by, arms folded deliberately and facing forward, his silence practically deafening in the fray.

And there Penhaligon sat, right in the center of it all.

Not addressing the chancellor, not even acknowledging the chaos swirling around the chamber. Calmly looking around, casually disinterested as his pack of political piranhas tore his opponent to shreds.

She dared to cast her gaze in his direction. 

Feeling her emotions swell. Feeling a fury that had gone unspoken for far too long begin to rise in her chest, the longer she stared at him.

Penhaligon turned his eyes to Julia, as if he'd _felt_ her perusal.

Winked. 

Pursed his lips rudely.

And blew her a kiss.

* * *

_Maybe bullets were too kind a mercy for a man like him._

* * *

Julia found her breath again, shaky as it were.

Slowly found her footing. Stood up, bracing herself against the stone wall behind her.

She’d removed her earpieces, her comm, not wanting the evidence of her meltdown translated all over the airwaves for her team to dissect. Tom was more than capable of handling them in her absence. And if she had to square it with Budd later, she’d deal.

It was almost reflexive now. 

She kept three pills in her pocket now for just this reason. 

Nice and discreet. She could pop one or two if needed, feel a little more relaxed, a little more like herself again. Help the shakiness go away. Get rid of the pain, all of it, for a few more hours, so that she could focus.

_Take all three. No big deal._

They were nice and dry in her palm as she hefted them. 

Worked her tongue a bit, let her saliva pool so the swallow wouldn’t be so tough. Popped them in, one by one. Tasting the bitter chalkiness, feeling the burn of each as it slid down an aching throat. Julia laid her head back against the wall as the last one got past her tongue. Closed her eyes again. Exhaled.

“Are you alright, Sergeant?”

Julia jumped nearly a mile in the air at the sound of Budd’s voice, turning sharply to see the chancellor approaching her warily from the opposite side of the courtyard. He raised his hands in supplication, as if she were some skittish animal he was loathe to rile. Tom remained near the entrance, standing guard, looking on worriedly. She cursed herself for letting her guard down, wondering how much they'd witnessed.

“We’re on an hourlong recess. You disappeared. I was…”

“Worried?” Julia finished sarcastically, disbelieving until he came closer and she saw the genuine concern written all over his face. The earlier tensions roiling between them since that morning felt curiously nonexistent as Budd nodded, dropping his hands, coming closer until he stood a comfortable distance from her. That unbearably frank gaze assessed her from head to toe; Julia shifted uneasily, not welcoming his scrutiny in the least. 

“Actually? Yes.” He came a little closer, eyes cast downward, seemingly mindful of her discomfort. “May I?”

The chancellor reached out, gently grasping her arm about the wrist. It was the first time Julia could ever remember him actually _touching _her, the surprising warmth of his fingers causing a jolt of awareness as they pressed firmly against her skin, feeling for her pulse.

“You look flushed. Shaken. Heartrate’s up,” Budd murmured seriously, staring into her eyes. “Something the matter, Sergeant?”

He still hadn’t let go of her wrist. 

Julia found herself reluctant to pull it away, though she did after a moment, managing to put some strength behind her next words. 

“I’m fine.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yes, of course. Just…needed some air.”

The chancellor waited a beat as if expecting more, his clear doubt soon giving way to a weary sense of resignation.

“That makes two of us,” he admitted finally, in a tone saturated with utter exhaustion. Budd settled his long frame next to hers against the wall, sagging against it with an almighty sigh. His shoulders were slumped beneath the contours of his expensive suit in a way she wasn’t used to seeing, that customary swagger he usually possessed in metric tons all but dissipated in the wake of that brutal session. The brashness, the bravura, that smug sureness with which he carried himself was conspicuously absent, replaced by an air of defeat Julia would’ve never ascribed to him under any circumstances.

He looked lost. Drained. _Wounded._

She watched him in profile as he shook his head, leaned it back, closed his eyes. “God, I hate this place.”

“So do I,” Julia muttered, evidently surprising Budd with her candor. He cracked open one eye, peering over at her with a wry, tired twist to his mouth.

“We could leave, you know. I’m at your mercy, Sergeant Montague. Go on. Create an emergency, whisk me away…”

“It doesn’t work that way, sir.” Julia shook her head, letting the barest edges of her faint amusement show. “I’m paid to prevent them, not create them.”

Another sigh passed his lips. “Yeah, well. I’m bleeding out up there, all the same.”

Julia said nothing to counter him, letting his statement linger for minutes on end, sensing they each needed a moment to pull themselves together. The lively chirp of birds filled the silence between them, the soft rush of a chilly breeze rustling the evergreens standing sentinel over the impeccably tended gardens. Budd broke the quiet first, casting a tentative look in her direction as she continued to face forward, still lost in thought.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

_Oh, for christ’s sake. _

“I’ve told you I’m –”

“Fine. I know. But…”

“What?”

“Did Penhaligon say something? Do something? He was baiting you, and I don’t know what happened between you two, but I’m not about to let that fucking _prick_\-- ”

“This has nothing to do with Penhaligon,” she lied flatly, content to keep avoiding that all-too-seeing gaze. Not for the first time, Julia found herself wishing that she’d been assigned to a much less observant principal. 

Budd hesitated, not looking entirely convinced, but clearly deciding to move onto another plausibility.

“The pills you take…” he mentioned beneath his breath, delicately treading as he watched Julia bristle, her discomfort with his line of questioning more than obvious. “I noticed that you…take them often. Just wondered why.”

“I get headaches.”

“Lingering injury? From the war?”

She folded her arms tightly, jaw clenched. _Why, today of all days, was he choosing to get personal?_

“Yes. You read my file. You know what happened.”

His eyes changed perceptibly. Not pity, exactly. But a knowing empathy playing in their depths. Whatever the true emotion that lay behind Budd’s gaze, Julia found herself unexpectedly responding to it, some small, stubborn part of her softening in light of his unspoken acknowledgement of her painful past.

“I did. I do.”

“They help. The pain is…” 

_Constant. _

_Relentless._

_Part injury. _

_Part something else entirely. _

_Those pills? Are the only way I can currently function, chancellor._

_But I’m fine. _

_Really._

Julia struggled to continue, not wanting to divulge much. 

Not wanting to talk about it at all. 

And true to form, Budd took the hint. Sometimes, _sometimes, _his surprising sensitivity proved quite useful.

“Must get pretty bad,” he finished quietly, letting her off the hook for a response. “Concussions are tricky, if that's what you're dealing with. They can compound. The brain takes a very long time to heal.”

“Spoken like a true neurologist,” Julia muttered. “You’re an economist. Not a physician.”

“I flirted with pre-med while at Cambridge, Sergeant,” he countered, raising an eyebrow at her skepticism. “Lest you think you know everything about me.”

“You flirt with _everything_, chancellor. Unsurprising.”

Budd laughed, outright chuckled, at her burn. “Fair. Harsh, but fair.” His eyes grew lighter as he peered over at her, the full strength of his smile causing her heart to skip a beat or two. 

The air between them changed again, tentatively warming, the obvious undercurrent of their mutual curiosity finally beginning to manifest in a deeper sense. Julia saw an opportunity to turn the tables, oddly finding herself wanting to remain with the chancellor, keep up their chat. She decided to keep it light and take the plunge, since clearly neither of them were in a mood to return yet. 

“Why politics? Why economics? This doesn’t…seem to be your crowd, so to speak.”

“In all honesty? I’m rubbish at everything else. Numbers make sense. Always have.”

“But how does one make the leap from where you were to where you are?”

“Hard work. A few breaks, here and there. A good investor or two.”

“And why politics?”

“Because of the Penhaligons of the world. Taking advantage. Making money off of other people’s hard work, profiting from their misery, never giving back. I grew up with nothing, Sergeant. Less than that at times. And men like him want to ensure that blokes like me never get a chance. That we stay down, stay in the gutter, do their dirty work while never threatening their superiority. Fuck ‘em.”

“So you’re Robin Hood.”

“With a better publicist. And an economic plan. And better sartorial sense. UK’s sexiest politician three years running, according to the Mirror. They ran a national poll. I know you’re impressed.”

“Oh, absolutely. You’re impressed enough by your looks for the both of us, I’m afraid. No need for my vote.”

Budd beamed even wider, genuinely amused by her taking the piss out of him. “You’re brutal. I have no idea why I enjoy it so much, Sergeant. But I really, really do.” 

Julia found herself suddenly needing to look away from that flawless smile, from those all-too-engaging blue eyes. She shook her head, face warming, humoring him with the slightest smirk as she turned to face the courtyard again. “Good. Not changing anytime soon.”

The silence between them resumed for one impossibly long moment. 

The birds, the breeze, the muted voices filtering into the courtyard from the surrounding corridors providing a gentle ambient backdrop as the energy between the sergeant and the chancellor shifted gears yet again: flowing quickly into different territory, those moments of freedom and levity afforded between the two tapping into the vast unspoken chemistry pulsing just beneath their halting, fragile camaraderie. 

The space between them closing, slowly but surely. 

In the way Budd was standing, leaning in a little closer to her side. The way Julia _allowed_ that closure, subtly angling her body towards his. Becoming much more personal, more aware of each other, the air becoming charged with a tension that neither of them could quite ignore.

Budd shifted next to her, shoved his hands in his pockets. Sighed heavily.

“What is it about you?” he uttered almost to himself, shaking his head, a small wistful smile on his lips. Neither of them were facing each other, and yet that softly uttered question hit Julia in such a way that she had to remember to breathe.

“Sir?”

“You’re…complicating things.”

“How vague of you. Please enlighten me.”

“I’m smart enough to know I can’t trust you. At all. That you’re assigned to me for reasons we both know have nothing to do with keeping me alive.” He paused, continuing after a moment, that furtive smile still in place even as his words held a definite edge. “You’re snooping around in my penthouse, in my _life_. Conspiring against me to please the higher ups.”

“If you truly believe that, then why are you here?” she countered quietly. 

“The billion-dollar question. Why a man like me, with every reason to hold you in absolute contempt, can’t seem to stop himself from noticing when you enter the room. Or when you leave it.” Budd turned his head downward, letting out a soft, derisive snort at his own compulsions.

“And then be crazy enough to seek you out again. Unable to concentrate until he knew you were alright. Mysteries abound.” 

Julia fought _so_ hard not to visibly react to his statement, remaining in profile, keeping her voice carefully free of emotion. “A smart man would keep his distance.”

“Correct. I’m smart...but not when it comes to you.”

“Why not?”

Budd looked over at her then, slowly shaking his head as if grappling with his own disbelief. Pushed himself away from the wall, stood to his full height, and moved until he stood right in front of her. Julia didn’t so much as flinch, holding that gaze even as inwardly she felt herself trembling, felt something in her deliriously giving way.

_Was he…?_

The chancellor leaned forward, staring directly into her eyes.

_He was about to kiss her. _

_Oh God, he was about to kiss her, _ _and she **wasn’t** moving away._

“It’s likely in my best interest, and yours, Sergeant, that I _never_ answer that question,” Budd murmured. That lone silver lock of hair fell loose against his brow as he cast his eyes downward between their bodies, at last relieving her of the dangerous current surging beneath that fierce cobalt gaze. One of his hands came up to brush against hers, long fingers once again grasping her wrist gently. 

“Hm. Pulse still quick. I wonder why.”

“Julia!”

Rob’s strident voice, utterly destroying the moment, disrupting the sensual warmth she’d been receiving from Budd’s gaze, his hands, his _words_. The chancellor dropped her hand, turning sharply as her husband crossed the garden in seconds, questions written all over his vexed features.

“I’ve been looking all over for you. Your team said you felt ill,” he began, throwing the chancellor a distrustful glance as he elbowed his way between them. “What happened?”

“Nothing, I needed air,” Julia said shortly, still reeling from their interrupted moment, immeasurably annoyed by his attentions. “I’m fine.”

“Her pulse was a little elevated. Skin a bit flushed,” Budd interjected smoothly. “I came to make sure she didn’t require further assistance.”

Rob frowned at that, choosing to keep his back to the chancellor and ignore him entirely. “You should’ve texted me immediately, let me know that you weren't feeling well.”

“There was no need,” Julia reiterated with a bit more force, barely restraining the desire to roll her eyes at the huge show of concern Rob was putting on in mixed company. She aimed to cut the awkward tension immediately, forcing an impromptu introduction between the two men clearly in contention with each other. 

“Rob, this is Chancellor Budd. Chancellor, Rob MacDonald. My husband.”

“Mr. Sergeant Montague. I gathered as much,” Budd responded, the mischievous glint still in his eyes even as his expression remained carefully mild. He extended his hand to shake, turning his full attentions to the shorter, much more riled man between them. “A pleasure.”

Rob just looked at the hand extended to him with obvious distaste, refusing to extend his own. “Chancellor.” 

Nothing more was said between the two. Budd lowered his hand slowly even as he grew visibly amused by the pointed snub, while Rob did his pitiful best to stare the more powerful man down. 

“Well. Time to prepare for round 2," the chancellor pivoted easily, nodding in her direction. "Glad you’re feeling much better, Julia.”

He hadn’t called her that in weeks. 

And the way he said it, letting his voice lower suggestively, eyes dancing with mirth at the way Rob whipped his head around to catch her response, told her that he knew _exactly_ what he was doing with that little slip.

“Sir,” she responded tersely, annoyed at the strategic baiting, even more chagrined that some undermining part of her leapt at hearing her name again in that deep, gravelly tone. Now it was her turn to deal with Rob’s damning stare in the foreground, Budd pursing his lips like he was holding back laughter as he nodded and signaled his departure to Tom.

“See you inside.”

He left then, turning on his expensive heel and striding away, taking every shred of mirth with him as the couple in his wake waited until he was fully out of earshot to continue.

“Right. Now I know why you didn’t text. Mystery solved.”

_Jealousy. Really._

Julia didn’t trust herself to reply with any sort of tact, pushing past Rob and heading for the exit, feeling him close on her heels. She wrenched the door open with force, seething as she stalked into the corridor, Rob catching up to her side moments later.

“Enjoying your latest assignment, I take it. Seems to be working out for the two of you.”

“Not now. We’re not doing this. I have a team to run.”

“It makes sense now. All this ridiculous hatred for Penhaligon. All the distance lately on your end,” he needled tersely, unwilling to let it go, clearly threatened by what he'd seen.

“We’re not—”

“His reputation alone speaks volumes. Didn’t think you’d be the sort of woman to—”

“You do not want to finish that sentence, Rob.” Julia stopped, furiously staring him down, the warning in her eyes evidently enough to delay her husband’s ignorant accusation. “I am on duty. You’re here to kiss the PM’s arse. Let’s stick to our roles, shall we?”

With that, she departed without another word, feeling the heat of his surly glare at her back.

* * *

It was barely an hour later when Julia felt an unusual sense of wooziness begin to descend upon her.

A fog. Growing thicker. 

Her mouth going dry. Her skin, ranging from ice cold one moment to unbearably hot the next.

She leaned heavily against the wall, suddenly dying to get out of her suit. The voices around her hardly registering.

_Fuck. The pills. _

_Three that morning._

_Three that afternoon._

_Maybe she’d taken too much._

_\--------_

Julia found herself moving towards the doorway before she even fully realized it.

“Sarge?”

Tom, over the comm. Alarm clear in his voice.

“Bring the chancellor out to the convoy,” she instructed, tongue feeling all sorts of strange and unwieldly. It took all her concentration to walk normally; she was glad not to stumble, grateful this time that the exit was relatively close. “I’m going to meet you there.”

“Skip, are you—”

“Fine. I’m fine,” Julia breathed heavily, feeling her head begin to spin. “Follow the plan.”

* * *

And she made it.

Barely.

Already seated in the front of the SUV as the chancellor was escorted out by the team, his worried eyes seeking hers out immediately in the rearview.

“Sergeant—”

“Doors and seatbelts,” Julia cut in, desperate not to call any extra attention to herself, insisting on getting on with it and getting him back to the penthouse as soon as possible. “Midnight secured and outbound. Let’s move.”

The truck began to move, the scenery becoming a blur outside as Julia felt herself break out into a fresh sweat, feeling more miserable by the second. Those curiously blue eyes stayed on her, watching her every move, clearly concerned even as the man himself remained quiet.

_She just needed to control her breath. Control it, and everything else would calm down, and she’d make it through this. _

_ Just breathe._

_Just—_

“4-7 to 7-9. Skip, this detour. Did you approve it?"

_Detour!?_

Sure enough, Julia snapped back into focus just long enough to take in their surroundings. 

Their unfamiliar, much more _sparse_ surroundings. 

The convoy had followed her vehicle’s lead onto a back road that was far more rural than anything she would’ve ever approved for the chancellor’s route.

“4-7, hold for verification." Julia turned to the driver, suspicion in her voice. "Dan, we’re off-course.”

“Radio in to control, Sergeant. They changed the route. Cleared it an hour ago. I thought you were aware.”

They would **_never._**

Julia felt her sixth sense click dangerously into gear even as she struggled to focus. 

“Dan, that’s not how—”

A squeal of tires, followed by the sound of several rifle shots.

Julia barely drew the breath to scream before she heard glass shatter. Felt the truck swerve wildly.

And felt the unforgettably brutal impact of a high-caliber bullet round strike her squarely in the chest.


	7. Darkness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy 2020! 
> 
> First of two chapter updates today. Trigger warnings for violence and sexual assault; this chapter is a pretty brutal read. Hope you enjoy nonetheless, and thanks for reading.
> 
> -Candi

* * *

_Darkness_.

\-----------

_They’d removed the hood, but she still couldn’t see._

_But she could hear._

** _Everything._ **

** _\-----------_ **

_All of it echoes._

_Men. _

_Low, muffled murmuring. _

_Laughter._

_A scream. Feminine in nature. _

_Beck._

_Another, shrill and high. Abruptly cut short._

_God, no. Don’t hurt her._

_Beck, just hold on._

_Please._

_\-----------_

_Footsteps. _

_Dull, becoming more distinct as they come closer._

_Closer._

_Closer._

_Julia plays dead._

_Hears chains rattle. A metal gate, creaking from rust and disuse, sliding open._

_A single thud. The butt of a rifle, hitting the ground._

_Footsteps._

_Breathing._

_Someone standing over her. A firm, swift kick leveled at her side._

_Her broken ribs grind. _

_The fresh bruises beneath her dusty, torn suit flare up in pain. _

_She refuses to flinch._

_The shadow crouches. Begins to hum._

_Playfully off-tune. _

_A joyous, awful sound._

_A hand, caked in dust and grime, touches her face._

_And travels down._

* * *

A hand, slippery. 

Shaking. 

Tugging weakly at hers. 

\-----------

Julia opened her eyes and saw **red**.

Blood. 

Sticky, warm. 

Trickling down her face. Into her mouth. The taste of iron, sliding down her throat. 

Splattered garishly on the face of the man gripping her fingers.

His green eyes blown open, pleading.

Terrified.

He’s speaking. 

His lips moving around words Julia can’t hear.

The world is mute. Her body, numb.

Her eyes close again, entirely against her will.

She retreats back into the dark.

* * *

_The hand travels._

_Down, down._

_Feeling her. Touching a breast. Squeezing it. Hard._

_She doesn’t move a muscle._

_The humming continues. The sound breathy, intimate._

_A thousand different kinds of **wrong**._

_She hears sobbing, echoing down the cave walls._

_Beck._

_I’m coming, Beck._

_We’re going to live. They’re going to die. I’m coming for you._

_Julia prepares herself. Gathers all her remaining strength. _

_Waits._

_Waits._

_The hand drifts lower. And lower._

_Down towards her hip._

_Close to her hands._

_They’re loose. _

_She’s slipped her bonds hours ago. They were clumsy, crude. _

_He has no idea._

_He sweetly hums, his fingers molding around her waist._

_Down. Palming her bottom._

_He sighs. _

_She can feel his face an inch from hers as he nestles in close. _

_Closer._

_Closer._

_Julia moves faster than she ever has in her life. Her actions swift, determined._

_Fatal._

_Her arms surround his head. One to brace, one to violently pull._

_Before he can scream, she snaps his neck. _

_The crack is deafening. _

_He slumps._

_The humming stops._

* * *

“Sergeant…please…”

“Please, Sergeant…wake up…please…”

“7-9, copy!!! Status, 7-9!!!”

* * *

_She gets up. Limps. _

_Ignores the pain in her midsection, her side._

_Steps gingerly. Quietly._

_Her hands feel rock, dust._

_Bump against metal. Cool and hard._

_The rifle._

_Julia lifts it slowly in the dark. _

_Feels its weight, touches it._

_AK-74. Loaded. Tac light mounted._

_She readies her stance. Turns it on._

_And departs._

_I’m coming, Beck._

* * *

“Skip!!!”

Julia gasped as her eyes flew open, as her senses suddenly rocketed back to life, every single cell in her body jolting alive, no amount of pain pills swimming in her system sparing her in the least from what felt like the force of a 2-ton sledgehammer ramming hard into her sternum. 

_God..._

Her lungs caved in on themselves the minute she’d taken that first sharp, pained inhale, coughing violently, hacking, unable to stop, flecks of blood decorating the dash she pressed her head against as she fought for air.

Tom’s voice, screaming in her ear. Terrified. Pleading for a response amid crackling static, his voice cutting in and out as the transmission failed in spurts and fits.

“7-9, copy! Skip, please! ---took out our tires, we can’t—backup---control is---"

\-----------

The voice returned.

Calm and steady. Absolutely crystal clear.

_Take off the comm. Concentrate. Check for injuries. Yours, then theirs. _

_Move. Now._

\-----------

Julia mutely followed that calm, steady voice. 

Hand shaking only slightly as she pulled the comm out of her ear, let it drop. Tucking her head down as she lowered that same palm slowly to her chest.

A single bullet hole, neat and perfectly round, sitting to the left of her heart just above her breast. One singed hole piercing through her shirt to the Kevlar beneath, the hard metallic nub of the round still warm under her probing fingers. She could practically _feel_ the deep bruises blossoming beneath, layers upon layers of tissue inflamed by the brutal force of the shot…

But no broken ribs.

No blood.

Her left wrist was sore and beginning to swell. Her knee ached, jammed awkwardly against the console of the car. Her head pounding anew, the blood gushing from a fresh cut on her forehead from its impact with the dash…

Impact.

The crash.

**Fuck**.

Julia’s eyes flew up, frantically landing on broken glass and mangled wires and the tree trunk slicing halfway through the truck’s front half, its branches reaching in through the windshield, everything tilted at an unnatural angle as the SUV’s weight rested precariously on two tires--

_Stop. _

_Stay calm. Concentrate. Check the others. Then check the scene._

She swallowed down nausea as she regained focus, breathing slowly, taking everything in as she willed her own pain to recede, her gaze landing just to her right and landing on the slumped form of a familiar figure.

_Dan._

Their driver. His hand, which had been reaching for her, now lay limp on the seat between them. Head bleeding, eyes tightly closed, breathing shallowly in their much-too-quiet surroundings. 

Julia's instincts, honed from years in the service, registered this quiet as a damning falsehood: as a warning, an impending symptom of war. The silence unnaturally drawn out, the very air around them rife with violent intention.

_They’re waiting on you. They won’t wait much longer. _

_The chancellor._

_Check on him._

Julia stayed low as she twisted her body as much as possible to face the backseat, cognizant of the effort not to rock the truck, not to imbalance it, not to give away any hint that there were signs of life on her end.

And there he was. 

The chancellor.

Eyes shut. Face pale. Body crumpled against the door, unmoving. Still in his belt. A perfect, jagged circle of cracked glass surrounding the side of his head, gone bloody near the bottom.

She couldn’t tell if he was breathing. 

Wasn’t prepared for the sudden rush of panic that accompanied the thought of that answer coming back in the negative. An image of Beck flashed to mind, Julia shoving it down with force as the nausea threatened her once more.

_Please. Please, no_... 

She had to get to him. 

Had to check. Needed to see if he was alive, breathing, whether there were wounds she couldn’t see, red spreading elsewhere beyond her purview.

Whether his clothes, too, contained any neat, perfectly round bullet holes.

He wasn’t wearing a vest. The windows were tinted, not fortified. 

He had no protection. 

Except_ her._

Julia watched him in horror, her fear threatening to race out of control the longer she sat and stared at the chancellor for what felt like a small eternity, waiting for a sign, some minute hint of life. 

He didn’t stir. At all.

Panic was rising quicker than she could manage it, her fear threatening to freeze her in place.

And yet again, that steadying voice came to the rescue, right when she needed it most.

_Focus. Help him._

Julia unhooked herself and shimmied between the seats into the back as delicately as possible until she was close to his side, hand outreached, touching the still-warm side of the chancellor’s neck just beneath his jaw.

What she found was incredibly encouraging. His pulse was steady. Strong.

_Thank goodness._

Still not fully satisfied, Julia tugged at his coat, opened his suit jacket, slid all the layers aside until she could visibly see the line of his chest beneath the knit turtleneck. It rose and fell faintly, slightly hitched, but definitely another encouraging sign.. 

He was breathing. 

Out cold, but very much alive.

And any relief she’d allowed herself to feel in that second at knowing her principal was still among the living was dashed in the next second as a stern, male Scottish voice reached her ears through the partially shattered windshield, carrying on the vacant breeze.

“She’s dead. Not sure about him.”

A second one joined the first. Almost amused in his retort. “Not so fast. Let’s be sure, lads.”

_Shit._

Julia’s blood ran cold. Her jaw clenched hard, muscles mobilizing for action. Hand surprisingly steady as she felt between the front seats, finding a tiny metal clasp.

Pressed it.

Felt the G36C rifle easily come loose from its holster to rest in her hands. Its weight familiar and comfortable, all her years of training and shooting and muscle memory rushing back, giving Julia power, a measure of peace, lending her strength, fueling her determination for the coming bout.

She listened as they drew close on foot. But not too close. 

Made out five distinct voices, talking amongst themselves. All Scottish, all male. Likely all armed.

Her odds weren’t great, she knew.

But she’d die in service to defying them, to protecting the man who lay unconscious by her side, blissfully unaware of what was about to take place in the name of defending his life. 

She listened to them talk amongst themselves, her quick mind all the while working out angles, distances, wind speeds, tactical decisions with and without the rifle, her finger sliding down to the trigger and resting snugly in its cold, tense curve as she tensed, readying herself for battle.

Julia took one last long, hard look at the chancellor. 

Dared to touch the side of his face gently, encouraged by the warmth she found beneath her fingertips, ready to do whatever it took to save him.

Took one last deep, steadying breath. And made her move.

_We’re going to live._

* * *

The first shot took them all by surprise. 

She could tell. 

One solid, perfectly aimed shot to the head. 

Julia heard the target collapse as she ducked again for cover behind the armored confines of the truck, feeling the adrenaline course through her veins and carry her through as the men coming their way suddenly scattered for cover, shouting expletives, frantically giving directives to the rest of their party.

“Fire!”

A spray of bullets followed, Julia letting the erratic gunfire play out, content to know that she was relatively safe behind bulletproof metal; that the chancellor and driver were well beneath the window lines of the car and decently protected for the moment. It quieted down as she kept her rifle close, keeping her senses razor sharp, following their voices, calculating her next target.

“Aye, flush that bitch out! She’s—”

“Shhhhh. Shut the fuck up and let me—”

She rose quickly. Fired. Ducked just as fast.

And before the next man finished his sentence, Julia’s next bullet whizzed through the air and hit him center mass, stopping the thought in mid-formation. Dropping him cold.

“Shit!”

_Three more._

_Three more, from what she could tell, and they could walk away from this. _

_Alive._

Julia tempered her adrenaline, bit her lip, listened close. Stayed ready.

“Aye, Sergeant…”

Her heart stopped beating for one impossibly long, tense moment. Her eyes narrowing in stunned recognition.

_She knew that voice._

_Oh God, she **knew** that voice._

_But how? Who?_

“Nobody else need die here. You don’t want more blood on your hands. I know you don’t. Can’t hardly sleep as it is. All the running in the world won’t wash it off, now will it?”

She heard steps, quiet, stealthy, closing in on her side. Felt a sighter on her. Saw the glare of the laser, dancing along the bumper of the SUV. Heard the footsteps. Coming closer.

_Closer._

“You don’t want to die, either. Shot your way outta that cave, made it back from the war. A bonafide war hero, living up to the legend. Got a nice husband in tight with the PM now, got that pretty little condo. Got your friends at the department. Especially the cute blonde one. Be a shame t’ lose it all.”

_Shit._

“Just put down the ri—”

Julia rolled quickly to the side, aimed once, and shot twice this time in the direction of the sighter. Heard her bullets pierce flesh, heard another man fall, heard his groans as he curled in on himself on the cold, damp earth and bled out furiously. 

She’d gotten him in the gut, she could tell. A slow, nasty, miserable way to go.

_Two left._

“Shit!”

Julia clenched her jaw, staying alert, remaining under control. Her rifle tucked against her shoulder, eyes darting, ears peaked. 

“Fuckin’ hell. I’ve got ‘er, J. Take this bloody cunt out once and for all.”

Another voice: harder, more aggressive. One she _didn’t_ recognize.

But she heard him move. Heard him rush the other side of the car and crouch.

Julia saw her chance, saw her vantage point. Rose swiftly and ducked back down again, saw the top of his head clearing the window glass on the other side.

No sooner had she ducked than a bullet struck the car centimeters from where her head had been, sparks flying as Julia jumped and scrambled back, heart thundering like mad at the close call.

“Net’s closing, Sarge. Two against one," the familiar voice reminded her crossly. "Don’t draw this out.”

Time stretched. Julia waited, rifle at the ready, her back pressed against the tilted, wrecked SUV. Senses open, eyes wide, finger on the trigger.

Waiting.

All she could hear was her heartbeat, thudding solidly in her ears. The blood rushing through her body. 

She took in the remote landscape stretching before her, knowing it could very well be her last moment to do so. 

A still, open field, ethereal in the fog. Pines yawning upward, dense and deeply green. Ducks flying soundlessly beneath the haze in perfect formation.

Julia closed her eyes for a moment. Knowing what must be done.

Offered up a silent prayer. A familiar ode to a friend long gone.

_Beck. I’m so, so sorry._

_Forgive me._

_Please._

_\-----------_

She rose silently for the last time.

Aimed.

And fired.

* * *

Julia heard her shot hit just as another rang out, grazing her arm, the sting almost making her drop her rifle as she hissed and crouched beneath the sight line, breathing hard, hearing her target scream and curse and roll in pain.

_One._

She dropped the rifle, snatched her handgun from its holster. Ignored the blood seeping heavily down her arm as she hefted the lighter firearm and moved fast, ready to end this here and now.

“Armed police! Place your hands where—”

The world was knocked violently on its axis as a dark figure rushed her blind side, all the air whooshing hard from her lungs, her gun knocked away as Julia struggled violently beneath the sudden weight of her assailant, looking up into a masked face, familiar icy blue eyes burning into hers with an unbelievable hatred radiating from their smoldering depths.

_It IS him._

His fingers wrapped around her throat tightly, thumbs unmercifully pressing down into her trachea. Julia couldn’t break the hold, feeling her strength go as her fingernails clawed at his hands, at his arms, unable to draw in even the slightest breath, feeling the veins in her neck and face begin to distend as darkness crowded the edges of her vision and she slowly began to lose consciousness…

“You fuckin’ b—”

A gun went off suddenly.

One shot, delivered at point blank range.

Blood sprayed all over the side of Julia’s face as she felt the bulk of the body atop hers suddenly collapse, felt the hands against her throat loosen abruptly as she sank back down onto wet grass, gasping and coughing and desperate for air, feeling herself losing her grip on consciousness fast.

She looked up to see her Glock, still aimed in the grip of an expensively gloved hand.

Budd. Lowering the firearm. Blood trailing down his dark, wrathful features as he loomed above her, standing stock still, panting, eyes cold and fierce.

Julia said nothing, did nothing, pinned in place and fighting to stay conscious as Budd expertly wielded the gun in his hand while kicking the body atop hers roughly, flipping it over and off of her. He crouched over her, still breathing hard as he searched her features, placing a hand against the side of her face.

"Don't move," he whispered, sweeping her hair back from her features, his voice reassuring even as his eyes remained deadly. "It's alright. Just stay right down."

Julia hadn't the strength to argue, sinking back down to the ground and watching wearily as the chancellor rose and stalked over to the motionless body, still pointing the Glock as a precaution. He bent, using his free hand to yank off the mask...

And suddenly sank down to the cold, damp earth in shock, horrified eyes trained on the face of the dead man before him. Julia, woozy and just about ready to pass out, nonetheless caught a glimpse of the man in question, her earlier suspicions proving correct as she spied pale skin, neck tattoos, a familiar blond buzzcut. 

_Jim McClary._

Budd gasped then, a heart-wrenching sound that clawed straight at her soul.

A fist, pressed to his mouth, suppressing a sob that threatened to escape. Her gun, dropped carelessly to the ground.

And Julia could hear sirens mercifully approaching in the distance as she welcomed the dark once more.

* * *


	8. Truth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yet another chapter! The bolded/italicized text is BBC stuff. Please enjoy. :)
> 
> -Candi

* * *

_ **"The BBC is airing live from the scene of the terrifying assassination attempt on Chancellor David Budd’s life that occurred just hours ago in a remote section of London just south of the river. Three suspects were confirmed dead at the scene, two more are currently listed in critical condition. ** _

** _The driver of the Chancellor’s convoy has also been listed in serious condition, with no updated word on his health status; members of the Chancellor’s security team have also been hospitalized with minor injuries. Chancellor Budd is reported to have sustained no life-threatening injuries to his person, a miracle considering the details we’ve gathered on the events that unfolded here late this afternoon—”_ **

A hand.

Pressed against her forehead.

Calloused, caring, warm.

“Ms. Montague?” 

A female voice, pleasant and professional, competing for her attention amid the news broadcast droning on in the background.

Julia instinctively turned toward that kind, pleasant voice, still very much out of it.

Cracked open her eyes the slightest bit, her gaze landing on a kind, heart-shaped face surrounded by frizzy blonde curls.

“You’re awake! We’ve been worried, miss. You were unresponsive for a long while there.”

** _“Chancellor Budd is scheduled to give a short address to the nation regarding the attempt on his life just minutes from now on our broadcast. We encourage our viewers to stay tuned for his address as we go now to Commander Anne Sampson of the Metropolitan Police Service—”_ **

“I’m Alicia, your nurse for this shift. How do you feel, Ms. Montague?”

Julia looked up wordlessly, the world around her slowly coming into focus even as her thoughts remained mired in sludge. The dull ache of her chest threatened to become more and more acute with each inhale, while the rest of her body stubbornly remained in a tingly, floating stupor.

“I…”

Her tongue wouldn’t cooperate in the least with what she was trying to convey. Alicia only murmured soothingly in response, content to take vitals and type notes while Julia’s ears strained to take in Sampson’s public address. The commander looked appropriately grave, dressed in her customary grey suit and flanked by equally dour officials as she continued to pontificate on the day’s attack.

** _“We are still putting together a picture of the events that occurred today, and are conducting a thorough investigation into any potential breaches of duty within the confines of our ranks. I would ask that all questions or speculation from the media centered around these concerns be suspended for the time being, as we rightfully laud the heroic efforts of the protection detail directly involved in saving Chancellor Budd’s life today—”_ **

“Terrifying times,” the nurse muttered under her breath, taking a cautious look at Julia as she took her blood pressure carefully. “I’ve so much respect for what you do, Ms. Montague. Takes a tough sort to stomach your line of work.”

“Thank you,” Julia replied absently, watching as Sampson departed the platform while the officers flanking her remained in place. Flashbulbs began to go off en masse, reflecting heavily off the assembled scrum as Chancellor Budd took the stage, hardly looking the worse for wear save for a lightly bandaged cut high above his right eye. Like the true politician he was, he paused to allow for assembled media to audibly register their surprise at seeing him so well-composed, sharp as usual in a crisp navy suit, piercing eyes serious as he surveyed the crowd before starting to speak.

“Quite fit, that one.”

“Mmmm,” Julia replied noncommittally, hardly realizing she’d sat up straighter the minute he’d appeared on screen, an indescribable mix of profound relief and tightly-wound anxiety flooding her system as she studied the chancellor's face intently. Seeing the telltale signs hardly anyone else would catch by just looking at him. The ones she’d caught only after months and months of making the effort to look beyond that perfectly conceived façade. 

The ones she could tell he was fighting to conceal in full view of the nation, and the world. By all outward appearances, he was doing so successfully.

But Julia knew better.

His eyes. Redder than usual. Glassy. Carefully vacant. 

The slight downward tilt to his chin. The minute slump of his usually proud set of shoulders. The tremor of his hands, visible as they rested against the lectern.

No, David Budd was **not** okay. 

_At all._

“Also quite the pain in the arse, between you and I, miss.” Alicia nattered on under her breath, glancing knowingly at her patient as she laid out a variety of collection tubes and prepared to draw Julia’s blood. “A very difficult patient. At least that’s what’s being passed around right now.”

The teasing observation fell on deaf ears as Julia ignored her entirely in favor of focusing on his address. The chancellor cleared his throat before he began to speak, his tone just a touch less robust than usual, the pauses between his statements much more elongated as he appeared to carefully weigh each word being delivered to the public at large.

**“_Before I start…I wish to thank the hardworking servicemen and women of the Metropolitan Police, both for their efforts on the ground today during the attempt on my life, and for their ongoing investigative efforts into the circumstances surrounding the attack. _**

** _I am equally compelled…to thank one person in particular. Were it not for the brave and selfless actions undertaken by—”_ **

“He tried to come down here, but of course there’s no way we could’ve possibly let him on this floor,” the nurse rambled on over the chancellor’s address, having filled one tube and removing it before replacing it with another. “The rest of your colleagues are being treated, and staff and security are stretched thin enough as it is--”

“Excuse me?” Julia’s head turned sharply at Alicia’s innocuous statement, her momentary irritation with the nurse’s constant talking quickly forgotten as she eyed the younger woman with no small amount of surprise.

“What did you just say? Forgive me, I was distracted…”

“So sorry, miss! I completely spoke out of turn,” the young nurse demurred quickly in response, obviously regretting the temptation to share yet continuing her nervous, excited chatter amid the burgeoning questions she could see plain as day in Julia’s expression. “And I really shouldn’t be sharing this, in all honesty…”

“Please. I won’t get you in trouble,” Julia assured, mind racing on possibilities as the nurse’s disclosures set off a flood of emotions she hadn’t quite been ready to encounter. She pressed for more details, glancing over at Budd’s image, deeply concerned for him. Wondering at all that had transpired since their parting. 

“I just need to know what happened. Why he was coming down to this floor.”

“I shouldn’t be talking about this,” she reiterated, shaking her head, a mixture of caution and excitement in her gaze as she lowered her voice even further and continued at length. “It’s just that we hardly see anyone of his stature come in for treatment, and the staff was in quite the tizzy, and the media’s been crowding the hospital for hours, and the rumor was that he tried to make his way down to this floor once he convinced a nurse to check **your** admission report. Which was obviously wrong of that nurse, to be sure," Alicia reasoned, hardly missing a beat as she switched tubes and untied the red rubber tourniquet around Julia’s arm. “Nobody should be sharing that sort of information. Obviously.”

“Obviously,” Julia echoed slowly, still in no small amount of disbelief as the talkative nurse hardly took a breath in her retelling of rumored events.

“The word is that the chancellor can be _very_ persuasive. I believe it. And Jackie can be a bit easy,” the nurse continued on. “In any event, the word is that he asked after you. And tried to come down here. But the place is swarming with coppers. Hospital security advised against it. Your husband apparently got into the fray, turning him away, insisting that you not be disturbed. I think he felt that the chancellor would bring too much unwanted media attention to your door when you should be resting, which I tend to agree with. What a thoughtful bloke. So protective. You’re very lucky.”

Julia averted her gaze at the mention of Rob, not quite being able to hide the derision in her voice. “Yes. Lucky. Very.”

“I’d better hush. We’re almost done here, Ms. Montague,” Alicia chirped, placing the latest tube down and reaching for the last one in the set. “Your injuries are fairly minor, just some deep sternal bruising, a few cuts, a sprained wrist. Doc’s got you on a low dose of pain meds. He was worried about how unresponsive you were on arrival. We have a former record that says you take opioids for…migraine headaches, is that correct?”

Julia tensed abruptly, unprepared for the sudden, sensitive change in topic. 

“It is. On occasion.”

If the nurse noticed anything off about the hesitation in Julia’s tone, she didn’t make note of it, busily inputting her information into the laptop on the side table. “Right. Taking it as needed, correct?"

“Yes.”

“Take any today? Just for our records,” she added quickly, eyes on her work as she finished up her notes. “We like to keep strict tabs on opioid use. I’m sure you’re being responsible, but there’s always a danger—”

“I took a dose. Had a headache earlier today,” Julia cut in, keeping her voice carefully normal, her gut churning at the sudden, particular scrutiny. “Like I said. On occasion.”

Alicia smiled comfortingly, laying a gentle hand on Julia’s arm. “Of course. I’ll let the doctor know you’ve got a current pain med prescription. Wouldn’t want to overdo it. And you can always—"

“Julia?”

Rob suddenly leaned in just beyond the line of the partly pulled curtain, phone in hand, eyebrows raised as he regarded Julia with a concerned frown. “Finally awake! Though I wish I’d been notified…”

He cast a mildly irritated glance in the nurse’s direction as he came over and immediately reached for the remote lying near Julia’s left hand, the image of Chancellor Budd disappearing instantly as he switched off the television with a deft click. 

“And my wife obviously shouldn’t be subject to the media circus playing out right now, after the hell she’s been through today,” he admonished further, the hostility growing in his tone. “A little common sense on your part please, miss.”

“Many apologies, sir. Still new here. Just out of university. Learning protocol,” Alicia flushed in embarrassment as she apologized profusely. “You must want to go home, Ms. Montague. Your vitals are all normal. If you’re feeling stable, I’ll have the doctor draw up your discharge papers. Have you out of here hopefully within the hour.”

* * *

As it turned out, "within the hour" stretched to roughly three full hours by the time all had been said and done.

Their ride to the safehouse was entirely silent.

It was closing in on midnight as Rob followed the police car ahead of them, steering slowly through the dark, unfamiliar London streets as they passed rows upon rows of nondescript terraced houses. Julia had said very little beyond what was necessary after the lengthy ordeal of her hospital discharge, her exhaustion peaking, the pain in her chest and wrist still providing enough discomfort that she winced whenever either injury was jostled during the ride. 

It didn’t help that a familiar heaviness had settled over her mood, the adrenaline of the day’s events long since giving way to the grim, morbid reality of what she’d experienced. What Julia had endured was by far every soldier and officer’s worst nightmare, writ large, and was always difficult to process in the aftermath even if every action taken was a necessary one, every pull of the trigger defensible, every measure taken by herself and her team justified by law.

The lives she’d been forced to take in the name of protecting her principal. 

_The life **he** took to save hers._

Julia let her eyes close, let her head rest against the cool pane of the window glass.

The images came, unbidden. Fresh, vivid, visceral in the extreme.

Shattered glass. Darkness. The dash, destroyed and smeared with blood. Dan’s shaking hand, cut and bleeding, reaching for her. 

The clarity of that moment in the field as she'd courted almost-certain death. The pines, the fog, the sheen of dew shimmering on vast, mottled fields.

Her silent prayer. Her final move.

Budd.

Wild, unkempt, freshly bleeding, eyes fierce and bright as he’d held her gun in an unwavering hand, a faint wisp of smoke bleeding from the barrel.

Kneeling above her. Removing his glove, a warm palm sweeping her hair aside as he looked down at her. Comforting her. Willing her to stay down.

Aiming the gun. Kicking the body over.

The horror and sorrow shattering his features as the ski cap was removed.

She remembered slipping blissfully away amid faraway sirens, the indelible image of Budd’s face frozen in abject grief lingering now, tormenting her with questions, with thoughts of how to protect him in the face of what he’d done for her. 

There had to be a way to get to him. To talk to him.

Because Julia needed answers. 

Needed some sort of reassurance that they were on the same page. Needed him to let her in on what she _didn’t_ know about the men hired to protect him. Why Jim McClary, of all people, would be directly involved in an assassination attempt to claim his life, when it was clear there was some sort of bond between them that seemed to stretch back for decades. How he'd gathered all the personal details of her life, enough to convincingly level a threat against Julia and every single person she cared about.

Furthermore, it was now undeniably clear that there were unknown forces within the department who wanted Budd dead. 

Someone working both sides, who had access to control and to the chancellor’s itinerary, and who’d switched the routes prior to their leaving Parliament.

The department had already come around prior to her discharge, both Deepak and Kim visiting in the interim and delivering well-wishing sentiments on top of the warning that Sampson wanted an interview conducted about the incident in less than 24 hours’ time. Hundreds of questions were in their eyes as well, ones that couldn’t be asked in mixed company, and the restless tension between the three only drove Julia’s urgent desire to figure out exactly what the hell had gone wrong, who’d been involved, and why she now had the blood of four suspects all over her hands in an assassination plot gone utterly to shit in a foggy, remote South London field.

Little else mattered at the moment, and Julia stirred fitfully as the police car finally came to a stop in front of a modest terrace home that looked like all the rest, Rob pulling into the driveway at the officers’ behest.

“Looks cozy enough,” he idly remarked, shutting off the engine and peering over at her. “I’ll get the bags. Can you manage?”

“Sure,” Julia said absently, taking off her seatbelt and feeling below for her bag of belongings from the hospital. She reached a hand in and rifled around as Rob opened the boot of the car, removing the luggage he’d hastily packed as an officer cautiously swept the entrance, keys jingling in tow.

Her phone was nowhere to be found.

* * *

“Rob?”

He’d just closed the door behind the last officer for the evening, laying the keys down tiredly on an adjacent console table. Sighing, he bent to remove his dress shoes. “Yes, love?”

“My phone,” Julia said by way of inquiry, waving an errant hand at the items he’d packed for her. “I can’t find it. Have you seen it anywhere?”

Rob looked up, his glance a bit peevish as he regarded her from the hall. “Mind giving me a minute? I know this has been a tough day for you, but it hasn’t exactly been a delight for me, either.”

“I know. I apologize,” Julia responded, feeling that familiar, nasty tension between them already manifesting in their brief exchange. “Don’t mean to bother. Just need to make a call.”

His long exhale held equal parts exhaustion and frustration as he rose from the hallway bench and passed her, hardly bothering to entertain her request as he entered the living room and began to rifle through his own belongings. 

“Wouldn’t it be better to rest? It’s nearly midnight. Surely it can wait.”

Rob’s back was to her, his shoulders stiffly held even as he conveyed the pretense of concern. He said nothing more, nor did he present her with her phone, slinging his duffel over the rolling luggage he held and tugging it towards the hall leading to the second floor staircase. 

Something was up. 

And Julia had neither the time nor patience to deal with it right now.

“It can’t,” she said shortly. “I need it. Have you seen it? Answer me.”

“Who do you need to call, I wonder?” He still wouldn’t look at her directly, returning to gather her bags as well, his voice edged in sarcasm as Julia simply stared at him, growing more furious by the second the longer he was content to play obtuse. “Who could possibly be _that_ important? Not sure I can guess.”

She felt so close to screaming at him, striving for the barest measure of control as she lowered her voice down to venomous levels. “If you could put your bloody bruised ego aside and stop being a child for one moment—”

“Get some sleep, Julia,” he cut her off dismissively, a mocking tone to his words as he placed more bags at the foot of the staircase and walked back out to the front hall. “There’s nothing that can’t wait until tomorrow.”

She was beginning to see red again, felt her ire rise to a boiling point as Rob's refusal to meet her simple request compelled her to finally let loose. 

“Fine. Let’s talk. We both know what this is about, don’t we? Let’s get it out, right now, so we can both get back to being mature, rational adults."

“I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.”

“The jealousy. The insinuation that I'm somehow being unfaithful to you, even though you've got absolutely no proof to support such a ridiculous notion."

"No. No, of course not," Rob responded with false calm, casually going about moving their luggage as if they were chatting about the weather. "No proof. Just your lover, holding your hand at Parliament. Bribing nurses so he can visit you. Professing his undying admiration for you on national telly. No proof whatsoever. You must think I'm bloody stupid, Julia."

"Why are you jealous, exactly?" Julia retorted. "Because the chancellor acknowledges I exist? You’ve said roughly ten words to me on a daily basis for the last two years. Leave before I’m out the door, in the shower when I get home. On your phone for the rest. Shut me entirely out of your decision to work for the PM—”

“Because you don’t care!” he screamed angrily, going from zero to 100 in record time as he finally turned to her, apoplectic with rage, the feelings he'd obviously kept bottled up exploding in real time. “Because I don’t exist to you. I don't matter to you. Because all that matters in this godforsaken marriage is your precious, precious heroism, and what you’ve endured, and the bloody trauma you suffered, and your constant nightmares, and your stupid pills, and your depression, and your migraines, and whatever **you’ve** needed to get over since the war. NOT me.”

“I…” Julia found herself utterly speechless in the onslaught, mouth agape as Rob continued to go off, red-faced and furious, unable to stop himself.

“And you know what? I loved you enough to try. I loved you enough to go to all those bloody therapy sessions that obviously didn’t help, and lied for you when the department asked about your suicide attempt after the war, and slept on the couch for nearly three goddamn years because you couldn’t close your eyes without having some violent, fucked-up nightmare. I did all of it, Julia. Sacrificed so bloody much. And for what? It’s never enough. Not for the heroic, tortured Julia Montague, veteran extraordinaire.”

Julia didn't know if she wanted to scream or sob, feeling his words cut deep, feeling fresh wounds open and old wounds reawaken and bleed freely in the face of his scathing indictment. “I never forced you to stay," she shook her head, refusing to cry though her eyes stung with hot tears that begged to escape. "I didn’t force you to do any of that out of pity, resenting me the entire time.”

“You didn’t. And you know? I shouldn’t have.”

“Rob…”

“You want honesty? Let’s do honesty tonight," he said, far past the point of caring the least bit about her feelings, obviously hell-bent on destroying everything in his path.

"I’ve been having an affair. For over a year now. Her name is Chanel. She got me the position with the PM.”

_It's over. _

_It's over. Finally. _

** _There it is._ **

Julia felt the oddest sensation of relief pass over her just then, listening to his words. 

Letting them hang in the tense air. 

Saying nothing in response. Taking a deep, slow inhale. Letting it out noiselessly, her features relaxing in the aftermath.

Rob continued matter-of-factly, taking her silence as a clear invitation to continue, almost gloating right to her face as he contributed more detail. “We’ve been shopping for a flat together. Nothing too big. Just the two of us.”

She found herself nodding, still oddly at peace with his confession. Feeling something akin to an outer-body experience as the definitive end of her marriage had at long last arrived, providing some strange, calm sense of liberation in its stunning finality. 

Her eyes met his, hardly any noteworthy emotion to be found in their depths as she regarded him civilly. “I’m happy for you. Sounds great.”

“No questions. No shock. Nothing.” He scowled at her lack of response, getting closer to her, looking her squarely in the eye.

Julia shrugged, maintaining her nonchalance. “There’s nothing else to say, Rob. Except I want my phone. And a divorce. Long time coming.”

His face outright darkened. “You cruel bitch.”

“Rob.”

“You’ve nothing else to say. All these bloody years. And nothing else to say. “How about 'hey, thanks for hanging in there while I’ve been a fucking basketcase for over a year now, hiding pills in the toilet lid and disappearing in the middle of the night?'”

Her momentary peace fled quickly, Julia turning away so he wouldn't see how deeply _that_ barb had landed. "That's enough, Rob. It's over."

His pettiness knew no bounds that evening as he went in for the kill, all too happy that he'd struck a nerve. Rob circled her as she searched through their bags, content to continue his rant as Julia snatched open every last piece of luggage, looking in vain for her missing cellphone.

“How about 'hey, glad you’re having an affair so I can justify fucking the Chancellor of the United Kingdom?' That little display at Parliament today was really so affectionate, love. Right out there, in the open, hardly giving two shits who saw you or what I’d think of it. So discreet. Really happy for the two of you. Glad you could join his harem.”

“Fuck off.” She'd heard more than enough, whirling on him with fury in her gaze, her decision all but made now as the night continued to deteriorate. "Are you done? Because I’m leaving. Not staying in here with you for another goddamn second.”

“You’re not going anywhere. I’m not even close to being done," Rob retorted. "Penhaligon shared quite a bit about your time together. From what he told me today, I should’ve expected this to happen between you and Budd.”

She felt her heart practically stop, fixing Rob with an alarmed stare. “What!?”

“You heard me, Julia. 'Always willing to go above and beyond your duties', according to him. Not that he allowed anything to happen—"

A knock sounded at the door.

“Skip?” One of the officers guarding the door, her voice muffled through the metal panel. “A moment, please?”

Julia had never been angrier in her entire life, wanting nothing more than to reach out and smack the arrogant sneer off Rob’s face. She forced some pretense of calm as she turned away and walked down the short hall, feeling her teeth grind and her stress hit its absolute peak as she opened the door.

“What is it—”

David Budd stood stock-still on her doorstep, vivid blue eyes arresting her on the spot. 

Dressed head to toe in expensive black leather: a jacket, form-fitting leather pants, black fingerless gloves, scuffed boots, a glossy black motorcycle helmet hanging on the stair post just behind him. He still sported a bandage over his right eye, dark curls unkempt, stubble darkening his jaw as he clenched it once, looking her over before starting to speak.

“We need to talk, Julia.”

Her reply was a bit more breathless than she intended, still shocked by his sudden, unexpected appearance. “We do.”

“Are you okay? I couldn’t get to you at the hospital, couldn’t reach your phone. Been calling for hours.”

The missing cell phone suddenly made much more sense. _Fuck you, Rob._

“I’m sore. But otherwise alright,” Julia managed. He stepped closer, lowering his voice, the familiar warm scent of him mingling with the leather making her feel slightly dizzy.

“I have a place…up the coast. Discreet. Protected. Come with me?”

“Now?”

“Now.”

Rob came up behind her finally, his curiosity getting the better of him. “Julia, who on earth—oh. Of course. Just couldn’t stay away.”

“Rob. Shut up. Please.” Julia was done with him on every level.

Budd stepped closer, eyes now dangerously focused on Rob as the older man, drunk on his obnoxious rants and finally cutting loose, felt the need to stand toe to toe with the much broader, well-built, younger politician.

“Problem?”

Rob scoffed. “No. Not at all. She’s all yours. Per your current arrangement.”

Blue eyes narrowed in warning. “And just what the fuck is that supposed to mean, mate?”

“Means this clearly isn’t about business. Means your reputation is well-earned, chancellor. Enjoy it while it lasts. She hasn’t put out in over a year, so I’m sure—”

The fist flew long before Rob could even hope to finish his thought, the satisfying crack of his nose echoing loudly in the hall as he stumbled back with a pained cry, holding his face, blood beginning to gush from beneath his fingers. Budd shook his fist as he stepped fully into the hall, looking menacing as hell in his leather gear as Rob put up a hand in agonized surrender.

“You were saying, mate? Got more to share?”

“Just go,” Rob moaned, Julia stepping pointedly past him without so much as a glance in his direction as she snatched up the satchel containing most of her toiletries and a change of clothes. Budd watched her in silence, clearly itching to go, throwing Rob a threatening glare while Julia quickly checked everything over.

“Got what you need?”

“My phone. He won't tell me where it is.”

Rob wordlessly reached into his lapel and pulled it out, handing it to her as he mopped desperately at his bleeding nose with a kerchief. And Julia said nothing more to her soon-to-be ex-husband, beyond ready to leave it all behind; the safehouse, the marriage, the tenuously-held constraints between herself and the conspicuously silent man leading the way to the black and chrome sports motorbike parked quietly by the curb. 

She slipped on the helmet Budd handed her, noticing how he watched her that night with an uncommon intensity. Adjusting the strap beneath her chin with careful fingers.

“Good?”

Julia nodded, not trusting herself to say much more. The surrealness of the entire day catching up with her suddenly as the chancellor mounted the bike with expertise, letting her do the same as she adjusted her seating, making sure she was secured and centered behind him.

“Hold on. Tightly. About an hour’s ride.” 

Budd said nothing more as he replaced his helmet and flipped the engine on, revving it up, setting off and confidently steering the bike through the shadowed streets.

Julia slipped her arms around his waist and leaned in. Let the rumbling purr of the motor send a thrill up her spine. 

Let everything else go, if only for an hour's ride.

And held him close as the night sped by.

* * *


	9. Confession

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi!
> 
> Thank you so much for your patience while I balance work/school/life/ugh, everything else BUT writing these days. Sigh. This was one long chapter, broken up into two, and I'm hoping to post the next one fairly quickly. But I at least wanted to get SOMETHING out before I turn 100 years of age. 
> 
> Trigger warnings for depictions of child abuse and assault; I've updated the tags accordingly. Thanks for reading!
> 
> -C.

* * *

Despite herself, Julia found herself drifting. 

Eyes closing beneath the helmet. 

Lulled by the hum of the motor. The wind rushing by. The darkness. 

By the warmth of Budd’s back, broad and taut beneath the soft leather. 

At some point she’d felt his hand on hers, waking her up. Gently reinforcing her grip around his waist. 

But he was quiet otherwise. 

\-----------

The ride was smooth. Calm. 

Soothing, in a way nothing else in Julia’s life had been for quite some time. 

And so she’d found herself unexpectedly jolting back to awareness at the feel of the bike beneath them suddenly slowing and taking a sharp left turn before traveling the length of a declining ramp. Budd still said nothing as they drove down into the eerie depths of a crudely built tunnel, the roar of the motor reverberating all around them as pale green lights flickered on at their approach, then off again as they passed by. 

_Where on earth?_

Julia’s eyes went wider the further they travelled, her fears unconsciously ratcheting up at the cave-like feel of their surroundings. Her breathing growing shallower the longer their ride stretched on, throat tightening as images straight from her nightmares threatened to surface-- 

“Almost there. Just a minute more.” 

Budd’s voice, inexplicably cutting into her psyche at just the right moment. The warm, deep tone of it providing just enough of a deterrent to slow down her racing thoughts, quiet her breathing a touch, redirect her focus for a few crucial seconds while she gathered herself together. 

It was then that Julia realized that her grip on him had become vice-tight, her fingers beginning to cramp as they clung to his jacket. 

She loosened her grip with no small amount of embarrassment, chagrined at how easily she’d become riled. 

And yet again, she felt his hand gently cover hers. 

Reinforcing her grip. 

Letting her hold on.

* * *

The bike finally came to a stop a minute later, Budd steering the bike slowly into what appeared to be a cavernous dark pit before all of the lights cut on simultaneously and dispelled that notion entirely. Julia looked around in sudden awe, absolutely astonished at the modern, elaborate garage they now found themselves in. 

The place was utterly spotless. Well-organized, with at least 15 more motorbikes neatly parked on one side and four shining sportscars lined up in a neat diagonal line on the other. An older, well-kept station wagon was parked parallel to the wall, sticking out like a sore thumb amid the more glitzy vehicles surrounding it; Julia wondered briefly at the story, or person, behind that odd aberration.

They came to a stop in the middle of the garage, Budd cutting off the engine and putting the kickstand in place. The bike listed a little to one side as he took off his helmet and turned in profile, dark curls wild, peering back at her. 

“Okay?” 

“Yes,” Julia responded hoarsely, clearing her throat as she let go of him and began to fuss with her helmet strap. Her wrist ached terribly as she did so, a fact she tried to hide even as she felt the chancellor rise from the bike and take over the task, unclasping it and helping her lift it off. 

“They can be tricky,” he admitted under his breath, taking it and his own before turning to place each on a handlebar. “If you’re not used to them…” 

“I’m not,” Julia admitted quietly in turn, that surreal feeling beginning to rush back with a vengeance as Budd returned to help her dismount, proffering his gloved hand to her, reddened eyes fixed on her face. 

“We'll get you some ice for that wrist. C’mon.” 

\----------- 

And they ascended. 

And stopped. 

The lift door sliding open to reveal a dented, ancient panel of wood, a conspicuously modern fingerprint keypad placed where the doorknob would normally reside. 

Budd pressed it with both his thumbs for a moment, then stood back as the panel slid noiselessly open to reveal a dim hallway made cozy with lanterns hanging from dark wood-paneled walls. An old, tufted paisley-print runner that had clearly seen better days lay underfoot as Julia stepped off the lift and absently followed the chancellor, eyes missing nothing, her senses unequivocally alert as she scanned her new surroundings. 

New being a relative term, since the hallway led to a small, tidy entrance foyer that looked just as old and lived-in as everything else, the front door flanked by long French-style windows shaded by frayed lace curtains. 

Julia could hear faint rushing in the distance. 

The scents of sweet tobacco and wood polish mingling with another, less familiar scent that smelled fresher, slightly salty. 

The sea. 

She wandered toward the window, curiosity in full force. Swept aside the curtain. 

And the pale glow of the full moon greeted her boldly, shimmering over dark, churning waves. Crashing onto a pebbly shore just a few yards away from where she stood. 

"Where are we?" 

"Near Brighton," he said succinctly from behind her, giving her a moment to take in the view yet offering no further commentary on their location. Budd opened a closet to their right, shrugging out of his jacket before holding out a hand for hers. Julia absently did the same, careful not to jostle her wrist as she slid it out of the sleeve and handed it over. He accepted it without comment, hanging and placing them neatly side-by-side before closing the closet door. 

"May I?" he gestured at her shoulder bag, offering to carry it for her. 

"Oh. Sure." 

He hefted it with little fanfare, Julia still far too busy taking in everything around her as Budd led her up a single flight of stairs, their trek still barely illuminated, the carpeted wood beneath their feet creaking in protest with every step. About halfway up the staircase, the savory scents of hearty soup and freshly baked bread began to permeate the air, her stomach growling fiercely in response to the delicious aromas. 

"Hungry?" 

"Actually, yes," she answered, still dumbfounded at how the man in front of her could practically read her thoughts without so much as a turn of his head. Surely he hadn't heard her stomach growling from-- 

"I figured. Heard your stomach talking," he muttered, a note of humor in his voice as Julia shook her head in exasperation. "Pretty sure Charlie's got us covered..." 

And sure enough, the stairwell opened directly up into a vast, dark-paneled kitchen lit by a fireplace at its far end, the counters and old-fashioned gas stove illuminated by soft, buttery light. A man, short and greying but not stooped in the least, turned around at their entrance, coming from around the long island dominating the center of the kitchen and embracing the chancellor with one tight, firm clasp. 

"David. About time ye came back home," he reprimanded with no small amount of warmth in his tone, his accent a gruff Glaswegian brogue that fell particularly pleasant on the ear. "Saw you on the telly. Glad yer alright. A rough day, eh?" 

"It was," Budd admitted, sighing heavily. "Charlie, this is Julia Montague." 

She offered her hand; he accepted it warmly, placing it between both of his own. 

"Welcome. Aren't ye a beaut," the elder man remarked, a twinkle in his eye as he regarded her with a slightly flirty grin. "When ye told me to expect a guest, ye didn't mention she'd be quite the bonny lass." 

"Charlie." 

The chancellor sighed in a good-natured way, sneaking an apologetic glance over at Julia as she endeavored to take her hand back from the charming Scotsman. "Enough. She's hungry. We need a bit of ice for her wrist. And how 'bout a couple bowls of soup? Any more scotch left? Or did you bleed me dry while I've been away?" 

"Oh no, son, I hardly touch the stuff," Charlie insisted, nimbly maneuvering back around the island to tend to the stove and oven. "Go on upstairs. Get comfortable. I'll bring it all up to ye. Miss, a scotch for ye?" 

"Perhaps a cuppa," Julia asked, Charlie all too happy to put on the kettle and meet her request. They took their leave then, Budd leading her back to the stairwell and bringing them both up another two flights to yet another dimly-lit, warm hall, this one flanked by a couple of closed rooms on either side and leading down to a set of wide French-style doors. The glowing moonlight cascaded through the gauzy curtains as they approached, Budd parting them and sliding the doors open before ushering her out to a wide, well-furnished porch facing the sea. 

Despite the wild, brutal day she'd just endured, the unfamiliarity of her surroundings, and the mercurial nature of the silent man sharing the space, Julia unconsciously found herself relaxing. Felt her shoulders go down a few crucial centimeters. Felt some odd sense of calm begin to pervade her troubled, racing mind, soothe her bruised and exhausted body. 

"Here's a blanket." Budd gestured with a nod for her to sit on the upholstered wicker couch, wavering a bit as he did so. The evidence of his own exhaustion becoming more apparent even as Charlie appeared quickly with their meal, bowing out graciously and indicating his intention of going to sleep at the incredibly late hour. 

And so they ate in silence, Julia letting the warm broth and tea comfort her from the inside out. Budd doing the same, finishing his own in hasty fashion before concerning himself with his scotch, downing the first glass in one gulp before pouring another. 

She sensed it even before he began, the internal struggle he was waging. The war within himself, being fought silently right before her eyes. 

"I need to know I can trust you, Julia," he finally murmured, tormented face in profile, handsome features illuminated faintly by the gleaming moon. "You saved my life today. Despite every odd being stacked against you, you got me out of there alive. I don't take that feat lightly, nor do I take you and your skills for granted. Thank you." 

She nodded, not wishing to talk. Content to listen, instinctively knowing that she was being sized up, tested. Her honesty weighed, the tentative bond they had begun to forge finally reaching its ultimate point of reckoning. 

Nothing, absolutely _nothing_, would ever be the same between them after that night. 

They both knew it. 

And Julia found herself holding her breath as the brooding, grieving man by her side began to speak.

* * *

_He tells her the tale of a heart long ago broken soundly by the world. _

_Broken in the tender flush of youth, before it’s even had a chance to form armor. Callus. Any sort of protection for itself to fend off the trials soon to come. _

_And they do. Each one seemingly worse than the last. _

_Abandoned at birth by a mother he never knew. _

_Herded immediately into the foster care system. _

_His earliest memory is of being so cold he cried. _

_Shivering on a cot shared with another young, abandoned soul, their reed-thin bodies huddled beneath a single, frayed blanket in the dark. _

_Growing up in constant fear at the orphanage. Then in his first foster home. His second. His third. _

_He was never good enough to stay. _

_And his body bore the marks to prove it. _

_\-----------_

_Budd's eyes go remote as he recalls the abuse. _

_Tone detached, as if he’d long ago bowed out of his own troubled past. _

_As if he were describing the travails of a stranger he hardly knew, his delivery flat, not a trace of emotion to be found in the retelling. _

_His latest ‘father’, hardly cracking a smile the first day a sullen, curly-haired six-year old landed on his doorstep. His new ‘mother’, leading him past the threatening presence looming over them both, her tight, fearful smile speaking volumes. _

_His rebellion. The sort of innocent, harmless rebellion any six-year-old wreaks on the world around them. _

_And his punishment. Four full, unending years of torture. _

_Tied at the wrists, down in the basement. Forced to kneel. His lower back bared. The belt striking him hard, breaking skin. Breaking will. _

_It took a teacher finally noticing, years later, that her genius-level, gifted, yet utterly withdrawn student never wore a shirt to class that wasn’t black or long-sleeved. _

_Never sat back in his chair. _

_Never joined the other kids for games in favor of reading by himself in a corner of the playground. _

_Never, ever dared raise his voice nor cross her in any way during class. _

_She takes him aside one day. _

_Brings him to the school nurse, who lifts up his shirt. _

_He never forgets the horror written all over her face. _

_The tears pooling in her eyes when he turns back around. _

_\------- _

_And then there were coppers. _

_And questions. _

_Social workers, belated concern radiating from their eyes as they shepherded him into yet another cold room with a table and two blokes, pens in hand, their standard facial expressions of sympathy and seriousness all performed to the exact same degree. _

_Court dates. Motel beds. Dreary, endless days.  
_

_Doctors. Poking, prodding. _

_His back, permanently disfigured. _

_The belt cut too deep. The damage was done. _

_\-----------_

_And by the time he’s shuttled into his fourth foster home with a real family, a loving, caring elder couple who want nothing more than the best for him, he’s **lost.** _

_Angry as hell. _

_A bully, in every single sense of the word. _

_Fighting every day. Anyone. For any reason. _

_His young fists becoming the stuff of legend in his small, run-down town. He’s finally got a name for himself. He’s seen and respected. _

_He’s feared. _

_Nobody fucks with him. _

_No one. _

_\-----------_

_And Jim finds him. _

_He’s all of twelve and a half by then. Scrawny, bruised. Hair shorn, eyes cold and dead already. Suspended from school for the umpteenth time, but it doesn’t stop him from returning to beat some deserving arsehole into oblivion in the chilly schoolyard out back once the bell sounds at the end of the day. _

_The lanky, older blond watches with his entourage as Budd finishes his latest bout. A strangely proud smile gracing his features. _

_And when he’s done, cleaning the blood off his fists in a nearby water fountain, shaking off the one good shot to the jaw he took, he looks up to see a pair of familiar hard, blue eyes meeting his own. _

_Softening at the sight of him. Filling rapidly with tears. _

_“You’re my brother.”_

* * *

Budd exhaled deeply, his own eyes filling with tears by now as he remained in profile, staring out over the restless sea. Mouth trembling and jaw clenching as he fought desperately to hold it together. 

Julia just watched him, keeping her own threatening tears at bay, heart aching for the young boy who’d endured such unspeakable pain. The man whose demons were ever-present, refusing to rest. 

“We were so close. I idolized him. Followed him everywhere. Did anything he asked me to do. It didn’t matter. Rob someone, steal something, sell something, hurt somebody on his behalf. Jim was family. The only family I'd ever had. We were both recruited at the same time.” 

“The mob?” 

“…Yes. In a way. There’s different factions. They don’t all get along.” 

He took a sip of scotch, wiping at his eyes with the back of his hand before continuing. “There was a man funding ours. A very rich, very well-known figure. Ironically enough, a criminal barrister in that time. Took a liking to Jim, ruthless as he was. And Jim introduced him to me.” 

“Penhaligon.” 

Budd nodded. “Within days, he knew everything about me. Where I’d stayed, how well I’d done in school before it all went to shite. Found out I was gifted with numbers. And since we were laundering his money, he singled me out. Gave me a test of sorts,” he recalled ruefully. “Had me launder 25 million pounds over the course of a week.” 

“And you did it.” 

“Of course. So well that the numbers got bigger. The operation grew. He prospered. We prospered. Got a bigger cut. He was so powerful: could do anything, could make anything happen. He found my real father when I was fifteen. Could never find Jim’s. Our mum died an alcohol addict years before…” 

“I’m sorry.” 

“I took my father’s last name. Budd. He’s not on the record as being my da; he’s a good man, and never wanted any part of what we were up to. But Penhaligon re-forged it all. Changed every document he could get his hands on. Buried the rest. Cleared my record. Split Jim and I up, sent me to Harrow under an anonymous grant. He did the absolute most to protect his investment,” Budd recalled sourly, voice full of spite as he lifted his glass and took a long swig. 

"So he created David Budd." 

"No. I did." He hesitated, as if trying to find the right words to explain, shaking his head as he recollected the choice.

"It was a total mindfuck, going to Harrow. Being in classes with other kids who'd had all the privilege in the world growing up. It was like being on a different planet. And everything came so easily...I was still fighting for it all, fighting to defend myself. Not believing it couldn't all go away at any moment. I had to figure out how to cope." 

"You didn't get kicked out of Harrow?" 

"Twice," he muttered wryly, a hint of amusement flitting across his features. He shifted in his chair, settled back with a sigh. "But my professors fought for me. Became my second family. My economics professor in particular took a liking to me, knew how smart I was despite the tough attitude. Brought me over for dinner. Let me stay with him and his wife on the weekends." 

"Mike Travis." 

He gestured towards her with his glass, offering an imaginary toast. "You're quick." 

"What happened with Jim?" 

At that his face fell again, all the grief that had momentarily deserted his features rolling back in like the dark, churning tide. 

"Penhaligon...kept him exactly where he was. Used him for the dirty work. Didn't give him nearly the support he gave me. Jim liked that life too. Could never see past it, see his potential in any other way, and since he was being handsomely paid for his troubles..." 

He inhaled, let it out slowly. Continued on after a pause. 

"I wanted better for him. He resented my new life, resented me becoming some 'high and mighty cunt' in his words. Like I'd forgotten where I'd come from. It drove a rift between us. Well, that and--" 

"And?" 

Budd winced, averting his gaze downward, his voice thick with equal parts regret and sorrow. "There was a girl. We had a dispute. The less said, the better." 

Julia nodded, willing to look away momentarily for his sake. Sensing that there were parts of the incredibly complex man by her side that were still too tender to prod. For all his painful disclosures since the time they'd taken their seats, Budd hadn't yet shed a proper tear... 

But she could see it in him. The heaviness. The miseries that had compounded over time becoming too much to bear. This was a man who'd held so much in for years. Who'd been forced to deny his past, bury it entirely, create a new entity and live it out loud in front of the media, in front of the world. 

And it was becoming clear that grief was cracking that façade in countless ways tonight. Shattering it before her very eyes. 

"I tried to save him," he finally gasped out, hiccuping as he fought back a sob, still holding fiercely onto his emotions even as he shook his head in disbelief. "I wanted him out. For good. And when I had enough money to support him, to support us both, he promised me on his life that he'd walk away. That loyalty to his brother meant more to him than loyalty to the mob." 

"What happened?" 

"I don't know. He was clean. That's what he swore to me. Hadn't dealt in years, hadn't done any hits. Still had his connections, but used them to protect us both. That's why I doubted the threats. Jim was too well-connected, respected by all the right people. He had my back. Would never sell me out, or let anyone else ever think about crossing me." 

"Did he have debts to repay? Loyalties to others?" 

"There wasn't a debt he had that I didn't repay ten times over." 

"What about Penhaligon?" 

"This is where you come in," Budd sighed, looking over at her, getting to the heart of the matter. "Where your access to him comes into question. What you've observed. Your current knowledge on him." 

He waited a beat, placing his glass down on the small wicker table in front of them before turning fully to her then, his tone imploring. "I need your help. It's clear you two had a history together. Is there a connection you still have? Anything you've got on the more recent moves he's made?" 

Julia tensed. Stayed quiet even as his eyes remained on her profile. Pushing down the revulsion, the rage. 

The fear. 

"Julia," he prompted, waiting for a response. Searching her face carefully. 

"I'm not asking for everything you know. Just what might be relevant. Or useful. And it doesn't have to be traced back to you. I can protect you, cover up your sources. Make sure he never knows you were involved." 

"What I have on him is what you've already divulged to me tonight," Julia said tonelessly, refusing to break even as it became harder by the second to maintain her composure. She could feel Budd's frustration mounting at her unwillingness to give anything away, his jaw clenching as he watched her speak. "Financial records. His name on investment documents that you signed, too. There's nothing more." 

He refused to relent, shaking his head, desperation evident in his features as he pressed her a little further. "Please. There's got to be more. Anything." 

"Not from me." 

"Bullshit." Budd spat the word out flatly, his temper beginning to flare as it became clear she was content to remain tight-lipped despite obviously knowing more. "You're lying to me. Hiding something." 

At that, Julia snapped, her unbelievable exhaustion and the tensions of the day finally causing her to reach her breaking point. She stood abruptly, dark eyes flashing as she regarded the chancellor, not even remotely willing to accept yet another man throwing a tantrum that night in the name of bullying her into any sort of submission. 

"With all due respect, chancellor, your **entire life** is a lie," she retorted with force, causing Budd to rise slowly from his own seat, his own eyes darkening at the scathing heat of her words. Julia remained undaunted even as he drew closer, looming over her, silently daring her to continue with her damning diatribe. 

"Nothing about you is real, or true, or grounded in any sort of reality. Not even your name. You've been living some grand, elaborate mirage for decades, and yet the minute I don't give you the answer you want, or the access you're looking for, you accuse me of lying? Of hiding something? Feel free to piss right off." 

"You're deflecting," he insisted, not swayed in the least by her anger, his gaze growing in intensity even as Julia sighed irately, casting her eyes away. "You know there's more to this. You know Penhaligon's involved." 

_Dammit. He wasn't going to let this go._

Julia could feel herself literally begin to shake as all the riotous emotions Penhaligon stirred up in her competed with the anger she felt at Budd's refusal to yield, to leave her out of it, take her cues at face value and move on. 

And the more she tried to push it down, the more she felt herself unravel. The more she could feel herself reaching her limits that night, the pressure inside of her building to an untenable degree, panic rising as her memories of that night with her former principal began to materialize in short order. 

"I left his detail. Years ago." Her teeth were clenched as she fought for control, feeling herself begin to sweat, fingernails digging into her palms as she held her arms stiffly down by her sides. "There's no sense in using me to get to him. I don't know anything." 

"I know my brother is dead, along with two other blokes. Know that you could've been killed as well," he reminded her tightly, arms folded as he stared her down, still willing to persist despite her objections. "We both know the police were in on that hit. Put us on that exact road at that exact time. Set us up. Penhaligon's the link between the two. He's the only one who could've paid off enough people to set this up on both sides. So don't you fucking stand there and pretend that there's nothing more to this. You're too smart for that, Julia. Which can only mean your silence has a motive." 

"I don't know what you expect me to say," Julia shot back, ignoring the look of concern that flitted across Budd's features as her words came out more winded than usual. For the life of her, she couldn't slow her breathing, her pulse fluttering wildly at the base of her throat even as she kept standing her ground, refusing to capitulate. 

"I'm not some spy. I do my job. I kept you alive. Did the same for him. I _don't_ cross those lines, no matter who's asking me to. You're wasting your time." 

At that, any concern he'd temporarily held for her well-being fled with the gust of wind that swept between them on the porch in that moment, Budd letting his voice go threateningly low as he challenged her last assertion. 

"Oh but you DO spy on me when it's convenient, don't you?" 

Julia felt positively dizzy. Terrified. Out of control. 

_He _ _has to_ _ stop. He..._

"For your own curiosity, hmm?" He flashed her a lethal smile bereft of humor, eyes still hard as he continued with his accusation, pausing for effect between words while Julia shook her head vehemently in denial. "For kicks. Titillation. Or maybe it's only when the right people ask. Sampson? Penhaligon, perhaps? Do you have a price, Sergeant? Cause I'm sure I can beat it." 

_Don't._

"Stop. Don't you dare go there." 

He ignored the warning in her shaky tone. Went silent for a moment, looking away. The moonlight that had illuminated his face dissipating as clouds obscured the glow, casting them both in shadow. 

And the next words he spoke broke her entirely. 

"I was wrong to bring you here. Wrong to trust you. And I think I know why." 

Julia knew exactly what he was implying. And she couldn't be more horrified in that moment if she'd tried. 

_No. No..._

"Chancellor--" 

A sob rose quickly in her throat, lodging there, cutting her off. 

Rendering her silent even as Budd continued, heedless of the way she trembled, ducking her head sharply, averting eyes that had gone glassy, the pressure building and building from within with every harsh, damning word he spoke. 

"You're working for him, Julia. Tell me the bloody truth," he whispered, voice full of painful certainty as he stared down at her, a fierce sense of betrayal radiating from his haunted, irate gaze even as his argument gained steam. 

"His 'best asset'. The way he looked at you in the hall. They way you're denying everything, refusing to talk. You've been working for Penhaligon all along--" 

"He assaulted me!"

* * *


	10. Refuge

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Love and respect to everyone who's stuck it out with me on this story so far; I appreciate you more than you'll ever know. Special shout-outs to my sistas sunnyamazing and madamehomesecretary for being their awesome, talented selves. Thank you both for your help and support.
> 
> Trigger warnings for sexual assault and descriptions of child abuse; I've updated tags accordingly.
> 
> Thanks, and please enjoy.  
-Candi

* * *

_It was the unspoken rule._

_When you're assigned a principal, you do as they say. _

_And the more high-profile, the more the rule applies. _

_The more your superiors expect you to postpone anything and everything: family events, vacations, life itself, in order to appease the principal._

_If they want your time, they're entitled to it._

_No exceptions._

_\----------_

_The thing was, Julia had no reason to expect anything out of the ordinary._

_Penhaligon, for all his arrogance out in the public arena, had done nothing but treat her with polite, benign indifference in private over the course of her year as his chief PPO._

_Had never leered, nor made suggestive comments. Always addressed her by title. _

_His respect of her skills was obvious, his occasional lauding of her work in his political circles becoming customary as she took on more hours and began to lead his security team._

_They weren't close by any means. _

_But their working relationship was sound. A mutual respect was in place._

_And their chats were banal, perfunctory exercises. _

_About the weather, or some random news item of the day. Or his growing itinerary and the occasional complaints he harbored about it, delivered with a very dry British wit._

_Julia would offer an obligatory smile to commiserate with his humor, meeting his pale blue eyes briefly in the rearview mirror before continuing on with her job. _

_Surveying the streets. Leading their team. Keeping them safe._

_\----------_

_And so she thought nothing of answering her phone that Friday night._

_Rob had been away on business; she'd had the condo to herself, and the day off to rest._

_Her phone buzzed, stirring her from her nap._

_Penhaligon. Casually apologetic._

_"I'm afraid I've had an impromptu dinner party tonight. Some chums from out of town, bringing a few guests I didn't expect. Would you mind swinging by, Sergeant? Doing your security check? I hate to bother you, but you know the house so well."_

_And she thought absolutely nothing of shrugging into a pair of jeans, a comfortable blazer._

_Toting her badge and little else, figuring the armed guards outside the dwelling would be sufficient should any real danger arise._

_\----------_

_He answered the door, waved her in, thanked her for coming._

_Dressed in khakis and a rugby jersey, a little less well-kept than usual. A pint in hand, half-finished._

_They made their idle talk there in the hall: the minutiae of the day recounted in cordial haste. Penhaligon's wife, an investment broker, had evidently hopped a flight to Berlin that morning for a two-week work endeavor, leaving him to his own devices in the interim._

_"I promised her I'd be good. But then the boys came over to watch the rugby match, and well..." he'd recounted, a peculiar glint in his eye as he toasted his pint glass at nothing in particular. "It's nice to have a little fun now and again, isn't it, Sergeant?"_

_She agreed politely for his sake, eager to get down to it. All business as usual as she excused herself to begin, doing all her usual checkmarks._

_The doors. Check the locks for tampering. The hinges for loosening._

_The windows. Locked, swept for devices. Noting anything unusual in the sight lines._

_It was a quick exercise, Julia practically on autopilot as she walked from room to room, her hands and eyes doing all the work for her while her mind lay on the weekend ahead._

_She'd finally felt good, for the first time in a long time._

_Good enough to make plans and remain excited by the prospect of carrying them out._

_Lunch and a movie with Kim. A trip to the local nursery for a few plants; nothing too grand, but she'd seen a windowbox in a magazine that had caught her eye._

_Perhaps she'd get her nails done, too._

_Normal plans. In a life that had felt anything but normal since the war._

_The mundane events that meant little in the lives of others worthy of true celebration in hers._

_Worthy of pride. A recognition of how far she'd come._

_And she remembered smiling to herself as she rounded a corner and reached the doorway to Penhaligon's study, musing about seeing Shelley the following week. Knowing the frank, no-nonsense redhead would be delighted to hear that she'd done well, that their therapy sessions together had begun to yield a level of comfort and safety in Julia that had been hard to come by for quite some time._

_So preoccupied was she, content to remain on autopilot for her security check, that she never heard Penhaligon enter the study behind her._

_"Ah. I'd wondered where you'd gone."_

_"Almost done, sir," she'd replied, a little startled as he entered the space. "This is my last room. I'll be leaving soon enough."_

_"Oh no, by all means. Take your time," he insisted. "I'll not get in your way."_

_And so she'd turned her back on him. Surveyed the space as she walked across._

_The study was quite large. Three doorways, two of which were usually locked from the inside. A myriad of windows overlooking a central courtyard._

_Julia's hands tested the small, delicate locks at the bottom of the pane of the first window. Pressed her palms against the sides, checking for loose panels or tampered frame work._

_And all the time she watched Penhaligon silently through the glass reflection._

_Feeling uneasy. Though she didn't quite know why._

_"Weekend plans?"_

_"A few," she answered promptly, too unnerved to divulge detail. He hummed in response, eyes remaining at her back as she moved onto the next window._

_Testing. Checking. Watching him._

_"With Rob, I presume."_

_"He's away. On business."_

_"Hm."_

_Her shoulder blades were inexplicably tight with tension as she moved over to the next one, fingers slightly fumbling over the lock that time. Penhaligon strode casually over to the bookcase surrounding the fireplace on the far wall, making the pretense of looking over the titles there._

_"Read anything good lately, Sergeant?"_

_"Nothing in particular." _

_On to the next. Two more, then the doors._

_"I studied English Lit at Oxford. Could make some recommendations if you wish."_

_"I'm afraid I don't have much time to read these days, sir. Always on duty."_

_Though their backs were turned to each other, she could sense him grow slightly amused at her words._

_"I need to change that. Give you some more time off. You're always welcome to peruse my stacks. Borrow anything you'd like."_

_Unbidden, the hairs on the back of her neck stood up. _

_And suddenly Julia couldn't wait to leave._

_"Thank you."_

_Penhaligon sighed then, turning back to her. Letting her feel the heat of his perusal._

_"Of course, I'm only so insistent on having you lead the team precisely because you're incredible at what you do. I hope you realize the respect I have for you, Sergeant. Hope I haven't overlooked giving you the praise you rightfully deserve."_

_"You haven't, sir. Thank you," she said, finally turning around. Not meeting his eyes as she crossed his line of sight to get to the first door. The hinges were dark, and she busied herself with sliding her keys from her pocket, using the small keychain flashlight to examine them properly._

_"Good. I want to keep you around. Make sure you're happy."_

_Julia said nothing, throat unconsciously tightening as she finished that door and moved on to the next. Penhaligon's eyes now following her every move._

_Watching her silently._

_She finished, testing the doorknob. Grateful at last that the only door left was the one she'd be walking through to leave._

_And feeling that gratitude turn to utter dismay as Penhaligon began to walk towards it at the same time she did._

_"So sorry. This one has definitely got an issue," he started apologetically, intercepting her path. "I should've mentioned it before. The doorknob's gone loose."_

_"Let me check it," she insisted, testing both sides, the elder barrister close at her heels as she turned the knobs, finding that the inner one was indeed unusually lax._

_"It'll work better if we shut the door," Penhaligon murmured close to her ear before pressing it closed with his palm. "I'll let you work on it. Later."_

_And what had been a disconcerting feeling prickling at the back of Julia's consciousness became full-blown alarm in a split-second._

_Those pale blue eyes, casually indifferent to her presence on every other occasion, glinting with intentions that were far from pure as he peered down at her expectantly. _

** _Shit._ **

_"Let me ou--"_

_A hand suddenly clamped over her mouth tightly, the other shoving her back roughly into the door._

_"Let's not make this some big deal, Sergeant," he drawled with a mocking smile, ale sour on his breath. The hand that had shoved her making its way quickly down, groping everything in its path as Julia recoiled in shock, struggling to breathe, struggling to push him off and getting absolutely nowhere. _

_Penhaligon had at least a half meter of height on her, plus a strong build for his age; he'd been a champion rower for decades, and it showed as he effectively trapped her against the door, body placed in just the right position to prevent an easy escape._

_As if he'd done this before. _

_"Mmmm. I knew you'd put up a fight. So hot..."_

_\-----------_

_And she remembers screaming beneath his hand. _

_Biting it. _

_Feeling the strength of his quick backhand in response, the back of his palm cracking against her cheek with force._

_"Stop it," he reprimanded calmly. "I want you quiet. Or I'll make it hurt. Understood?"_

_She remembers reeling, gasping in pain as he resumed undaunted, taking his liberties._

_Greedy hand slipping down. Groping her breast in such a way._

_A way that instantly took her back to a dirty, grimy holding cell in Iraq. _

_The private, painful hellscape of her past emerging at precisely the wrong moment. _

_Julia froze._

_Paralyzed._

_The terror rising unchecked like a sudden tsunami, swallowing her whole._

_Tugging her down fast into bleak, dark undertow._

_\-----------_

_And by the time she'd regained her senses, fighting through the haze of her trauma, desperately willing herself back to the present to defend herself, she was already bent over the vast surface of her principal's study desk._

_Cheek being pressed hard against rich, glossy mahogany. Her button-down gaping open, bra partly off, polished wood cold against her naked breast._

_Penhaligon behind her. On top of her. Pressing her down. _

_Using his other hand to hurriedly shove her jeans down, fingers yanking at her panties to expose her fully to him._

_He let out a grunt of satisfaction, breathing heavily, dry palm trailing up the inside of her bare thigh. _

_Touching her there. Letting his fingers slip inside, move around._

_Violate her._

_\----------_

_Julia waited until his movements stilled. _

_Numbed herself, her body. Bided her time. Just as she had before._

_Waiting for the opportune moment._

_Penhaligon rose up, pulled his hands away from her body. Needing both to undo his belt, untuck his shirt, unzip his pants._

_She took a breath. Waited till he hunched back over her, bracing himself against the desk, lower body sickeningly hot and turgid against hers._

_Julia swung her head back, headbutting him. Hard._

_He barely had time to recover before she grasped the heavy book lying just to her left on the desk, twisting and connecting solidly with the side of his face. Leveling him viciously in the blink of an eye._

_\----------_

_And she ran. Dazed, disheveled, pain exploding at the back of her skull._

_Ignoring Penhaligon's shouting, the vile curses he leveled in her wake._

_Fixed her clothes hurriedly on the way out. Her vision blurring as her nausea rose, her brain throbbing in agony. _

_Not speaking to a soul, nor trusting herself to get back into a cab, to be around anyone else, least of all another bloke in another confined space._

_Got home. Promptly fell to her knees, threw up in the toilet._

_Turned on the shower._

_Lay awake in bed with the lights off, afraid to sleep. The darkness doing nothing to abate the fresh concussion in full, miserable swing. _

_Ignoring the tears streaming down her face, the violent trembling of her body as it stiffly rested against the coverlet. _

_The hours passed. _

_Julia reliving the horrific evening, again and again, every time she dared close her eyes._

_And just as dawn began to peek beneath the blinds, she finally rose from bed._

_Went to the bathroom. Opened the cabinet door._

_And found an old pill prescription from less than a year before, the label slightly peeling. _

_Two pills still left inside._

* * *

"Julia..." 

Budd's voice, finally breaking the quiet. 

Soft, stunned. Teeming with guilt and anger. 

Heavy with regret.

"Julia, I'm sorry. So sorry. God, I'm a fuckin' idiot..." He broke off again, gathering himself for a moment, seemingly at a loss for words in the wake of her halting, horrific recollection. "I thought you were protecting..."

Another pause, the chancellor swallowing hard as he shook his head, clearly ashamed of his accusations, of having pushed her so far in light of the awful truths she'd brought to bear. "Please. Forgive me."

Silence met his statement, the recipient of his apology too spent to muster even the merest nod.

The enormity of what she'd just blurted out rendering her inert, paralyzed again, Budd thankfully not pursuing a response as he sat quietly by her side, the utter shock in his eyes palpable as they lingered in the ensuing stillness. They'd made it back to the settee soon after her outburst, a stricken Budd gently guiding her there, sitting her back down. Julia numbly accepted the thick blanket he wrapped around her shoulders, unable to cease the tears rolling down her cheeks, unable to speak for what felt like ages. 

He placed a hand gently over hers to ground her again after another minute had passed, peering down, glassy gaze holding equal reserves of empathy and grief. Julia closed her eyes as she silently accepted the gesture, slowly gathering the courage to speak.

"I should've never let it get that far."

"Julia--"

"I should've fought back. Fought harder. It'd have never gotten that far if I had. I'm a soldier, for fuck's sake," she confessed tremulously, her voice cracking around the lump of tears tightening her throat, feeling the familiar cloak of her own self-loathing begin to smother her whole. "I've got combat training. War experience. And yet I just froze. I let it hap--"

"No." 

Budd's voice was firm, finite. Refusing to let her finish the thought. 

"No. You were _attacked_, Julia. You are not at fault. Doesn't matter how much training you have. It could've been anyone in that position, and they wouldn't be to blame, either." 

He took a deep breath, eyes gone a little more vacant as he accessed his own tragic past to illustrate his point. "It's taken me years. And I'm not comparing my trauma to yours, not at all. But I had to eventually realize that were it not me, it would've been another child tied down in that basement, being belted until they bled for hardly any reason at all."

Budd paused before continuing, seeming to struggle with his next words. Wondering how much to share, how deeply he should go.

"I still have nightmares sometimes," he finally admitted, bowing his head as Julia watched him quietly. "Still find it hard to...look at the scars, acknowledge them. But I know that it wasn't my fault. And it wasn't yours, either, Julia. You have to accept that, believe that, in order to heal."

_Heal. _

Her head started shaking of its own volition at the thought, a fresh round of tears threatening to escape anew.

"I...don't think I can," she whispered, voice quivering. "I..."

She said nothing for another long moment, biting her lip, closing tired eyes against the onslaught of shame coursing beneath her words. "I used to think it was possible...to move on, cope, heal. Get past what happened in Iraq, forgive myself for not protecting Beck. Feel normal again. Do my job. Then that night happened, and...I let everything fall apart. My marriage..."

"Does your husband know?" Budd asked softly after some time had passed, prompting her to continue unburdening herself. "Does anyone else know?"

"No. Not until tonight."

"But couldn't he tell something was wrong? All this time, you suffering in silence?"

"I went a full year without letting him touch me," she returned quietly, ashamed, averting her gaze. Guilt weighing her down as she spoke. "It was too much to handle. He'd try to initiate something and I just...couldn't. It shut me down, took me back to Iraq. Or that desk. I pushed him away. Shut him out. Numbed myself out with--"

Julia stopped short, afraid of divulging too much. Not quite ready to admit to exactly how she'd been dealing with her pain all these months, nor confess to how out-of-control her urges felt at times.

"I just couldn't cope. He was right to leave."

She saw Budd's jaw tighten just before he spoke, turning to her, gaze absolutely serious. "Julia, you are the strongest woman I've ever met."

He continued before she could deny it, words ringing with conviction, never once looking away. "He left because he's weak. Selfish. Undeserving of you. Don't think for a minute that you ever deserve to be abandoned because you're in pain. Real love wouldn't leave you at your lowest point."

Julia let his words sink in deeply. Let the strength of them, the sureness of the man speaking them, penetrate the fog of sorrow wreathing her senses. Unbidden, she let her fingers curl beneath his; he responded in kind, linking their fingers together, his palm large and warm as it surrounded hers.

"What do _you_ need?" he asked quietly, eyes softening then as he regarded her in the twilight. "To start over. Give yourself a chance to heal. You're more resilient than you realize, Julia. And if you got there before, with all you'd been through..."

A million thoughts flitted through an exhausted mind, Julia unable to parse any of them out as she turned away from his searching perusal, looking out over the dim horizon. 

Rehab.

Therapy.

A divorce lawyer.

A new place to live.

Sound, solid revenge against the man who'd violated her eighteen months before, plunging a fragile but thriving life back into unending chaos.

And an understanding of where things now stood between herself and the man sitting by her side, holding her hand. Seeing her fully. All her strengths, every aching meter of faultline fracturing her battered soul traced by the sensitive depths of his steady, unflinching gaze.

The tenuous ground ever-shifting beneath their feet as they bared themselves to each other, discovering common, painful ground to tread together. Taking a risk, beginning to trust. That mutual intimacy that neither of them were quite ready to name underscoring every look, every word, growing more and more intense as the long, dark night wore on, the fiercely-held boundaries between them dissolving with frightening speed.

"I don't know," she finally whispered, looking down. Noticing that the pad of his thumb had begun to tenderly stroke her skin. 

"I want you to know...that you have me," Budd murmured, the quiet declaration causing Julia to look up. "That I'm here. And...I care about you."

\--------

_God._

_She could just give into him._

_Then and there._

_Lose herself. Let go. All her pain, her entire past._

_Lean into his warmth._

_Fall into dark, swirling blue. _

_See if his mouth were as tender as his hands, as his words._

_\--------_

Julia stared at him for what felt like an eternity, breath caught in her chest. Willing yet desperately afraid of what she truly wanted, mirrored openly in his fathomless gaze. Transfixed as Budd stared back at her wordlessly, the gentle motion of his thumb stilling. His other hand slowly rising to cup her cheek.

_Please._

It had been so long, so achingly long since she'd felt anything like this. 

Her heart quivering like mad, breathing gone unsteady. Lips trembling as they parted, waiting to be captured by his. She watched his gaze lower, his eyes heat. Felt the torment in him, the struggle not to cross the line.

_Please._

Her own hand rose to surround his wrist, feeling the strong bones beneath. Feeling his pulse throb rapidly beneath her fingertips. Budd exhaled, so close that she felt the ghost of his warm breath against her mouth.

_Please._

"Julia..."

His voice low, rough. Rife with so much need it practically shook with emotion.

"Let's...get you inside. Let you rest," Budd conceded with obvious effort, slowly pulling away from her. 

Dropping his hand from her cheek, the quick loss of warmth leaving Julia bereft, shaken in the aftermath, needing a moment to recover as he let go and rose to his feet with a sigh. 

"Come on. I'll show you to your room."

* * *

_He didn't want her._

Julia stared at her reflection in the ancient mirror, the dim light above the sink doing nothing to hide her current state. Eyes blotchy and red, face pale. Curls unruly.

The clouds that had gathered ominously an hour before beginning to shed rain, the gentle patter of it doing nothing to calm her nerves nor dismiss her scattered thoughts.

Bone-deep exhaustion, well past the point of being sated by sleep, made her body feel as if it had simply disappeared. Numbed entirely. The aches and pains of the day hardly registering even as her thoughts remained stubbornly on the man moving just beyond the door and across the hall, quietly preparing her room.

_He cared about her._

_But he didn't want her._

A part of her knew this was a lie. 

That he'd likely stopped just short of consummating their kiss out of respect for her needs. To be a gentleman. To avoid taking advantage at her most vulnerable that night. 

And yet another part of her reflected on just how fragile their trust was. How just months before, neither of them could ever fathom taking the other into their confidence, let alone going so far as to make things personal between them. The stern assurance of his words to her that first day echoed in her mind.

_-Nothing is ever going to happen between us.-_

And of course, there was the part of her that simply refused to believe a man like David Budd could ever truly want a traumatized, fucked-up, addicted divorcee-to-be with a miserable past that more than rivaled his own. 

A woman lost in pain. 

Who'd abandoned vital parts of herself long, long ago. 

Rob's damning words to her that night had held more than a little truth, nasty as they were. 

And perhaps taking the chancellor into her confidence, sharing such a horrific memory from her past, of what Penhaligon had done to her, had permanently labeled her in his eyes. Lowered his opinion of her.

_Damaged goods. _

Julia shrank back from the ugly, despairing thoughts. Felt her jaw clench, her eyes water. Forced herself to concentrate as she went through the motions of washing her face, brushing her teeth. 

The bottle, resting at the bottom of her small bag. Four pills inside.

She paused. Mouth twitching as she contemplated it for a long, weighted moment, the rain intensifying as it fell heavily against the roof above.

_One._

_Just one._

_That's all._

_Yesterday was a fluke. It's under control. You're fine._

The woman in the mirror never looked up once as she shook out a pill. 

Placed it in her mouth.

Cupped a hand beneath the faucet. Took a swallow of tepid water.

Felt it slide slowly down.

And kept her thoughts carefully focused on the man across the hall.

Who remained a true enigma despite all he'd shared, all that he'd confessed, all he'd admitted to her. If anything, their night together had created more questions than ever before. It was impossible to truly guess his motives, even less certain that the care and tenderness he'd shown to her that night would last beyond the coming day. 

They'd assume their masks at dawn, emerge back into the world. 

His eyes would be perfectly dry, free of any sort of lingering sorrow. Immaculate suit tailored to a fault, calculating smirk at the ready for the cameras. 

She'd reassume every last piece of her armor, fortified where necessary. Put on her badge. Arm herself. Keep her jaw clenched, her eyes distant. Put on a display of cool, professional poise as she weathered Sampson's interrogation.

And tonight would fade. 

It had to.

What he wanted.

What she needed.

Their mutual brokenness. 

How he'd taken the risk, let her in, granted her entry to the hidden, darker places of his soul. 

How she'd done the same, unburdening herself. Releasing herself of the horrific secret she alone had carried for nearly two years.

None of it would matter when the dawn broke.

_Unless._

* * *

He looked up as she entered the small room, taking in the quaintness of it all. 

An antique four-poster bed, laden with a comfortable multicolored quilt, dominated much of the space. Simple furnishings looked equally as old and well-loved, the paint visibly peeling on the cream-colored nightstand, a low dresser stretching the short length of the adjacent wall. Two huge windows flanked the corner of the room, their rain-soaked panes shaded by plain muslin curtains. A simple lantern-style lamp illuminated the space, casting soft, diffused light in a small radius beyond its position.

And there Budd stood, barefoot, still in his black tight tee and leather pants. Looking entirely out of place, yet oddly comfortable in these surroundings as he gestured for her to come further inside.

"Charlie really did the most preparing the room for you," he remarked, tilting his head fondly towards the bed. "Left chocolates on your pillow. Can't say I've ever gotten that level of hospitality."

Sure enough, there were two chocolate hearts, wrapped in foil and resting sweetly on the pillow sham. Julia smiled softly at the kindness as she approached, noticing that the bed had been turned down for her, her bag resting on a rocking chair in the corner.

"Thank you, chancellor," she whispered, the formality sounding more alien than ever before. 

"Please, don't mention it. Least I can do," he murmured, those keen blue eyes still reddened as he stood before her, watching her quietly. "Need anything more?"

_Stay._

"I'm okay," Julia returned instead, biting her lip. Silently kicking herself as he nodded, looking down before sighing under his breath.

"Good. Right...I'll leave you to it, let you get some sleep. I'll be down the hall if you need me. First door on the left." 

He nodded once again before preparing to take his leave, eyes cast downward, making his way to the doorway without another word.

"David."

Julia finally whispered his first name. 

Letting it out on a sigh.

Her tone tremulous, quiet. 

_Vulnerable._

He stopped. Turned back to her slowly.

Their eyes met again.

And whatever remaining reticence that lay between them disappeared, replaced by a frightening wave of need that swept over them both. Intense, unfurling fast, exhaustion giving way abruptly to frantic desire as he crossed the room in two long strides, Julia meeting him with arms outstretched as he brought his head down to hers, her mouth hotly seeking his.

_Oh..._

That first taste of David. The feel of his lips on hers.

It felt as if some glorious chord had at last been struck deeply within her, thrumming and fierce, stunning all her senses alive. Her skin flushing instantly, goosebumps breaking out against newly heated flesh as Julia held fast to him, letting every inch of their bodies touch. Pressing herself to him with a fervor that spoke to years and years of unmet desire, of denial; of a deprivation that demanded fulfillment from the hands of a man whom she wanted more in that moment than anything else she'd ever wanted in her entire life. 

She felt him pull away just slightly, the taste of his scotch lingering on her tongue as he panted against her mouth.

"I didn't want to rush you," David whispered, shaking his head in disbelief, heated arousal underscoring his words. She felt him sigh against her hair as Julia slipped eager hands beneath his shirt and tugged upward, getting it off in record time. His taut, muscled torso greeted her palms, rippling beneath her perusal, the dark hair lining his chest and abdomen soft to the touch. 

"Are you sure--"

Julia cut him off again with another searing kiss. Refused to entertain another word as she let their mouths play again, delighting in the way he allowed her to set the tone and pace, the way she felt him shiver as her fingers danced just beneath his navel before sliding over soft leather. She wasted no time, her hand molding itself to the firm contours of his sex, feeling David groan aloud as he pressed against her seeking palm.

"Julia..." He stopped again, foreheads pressed together, hands spanning her hips as his eyes peered deeply into hers. "Wait. I need to know you're ready for this--"

"I want to **forget**," she whispered urgently, beyond frustrated at his hesitation, burning to feel something, anything, besides the loathing and the fear and the pain. 

_She needed him. Needed this._

"Please..."

* * *

That was all it took.

David, undressing her gently. 

The careful movement of his hands as they deftly undid buttons, slid fabric aside. Sensitive blue eyes tracing every inch of revealed skin. Wincing at the sight of bruising on her chest, her wrist. He laid her down before bracing himself atop her and letting his lips trace the same path, lightly anointing her wounds. Julia finally felt herself ascending beyond the pain, beyond the fears she'd held within her body for so long, feeling herself release into pleasure at the mercy of his kisses, his dutiful tending to her every moan and sigh.

His mouth finally found the ripe peak of a nipple, Julia gasping as her body seized up at the sensation, her eyes shutting tightly as fear rose within her chest, threatening to smother the pleasure. David stopped immediately, seeking her hand as it gripped the sheets tightly, not daring to move another muscle while she took long, slow breaths.

_Shit._

The urge to cry pricked at the back of her eyelids, all the years of unprocessed trauma crashing back into her consciousness, and just as Julia felt herself beginning to retreat again, to shut down and give into the urge to flee, she felt the gentlest kiss upon her forehead.

Another at her temple. 

Two more upon her eyelids, one at the tip of her nose. 

The tears finally giving way even as she kept her eyes closed, weeping softly in his arms.

David, still holding her hand. Keeping her wrapped in their embrace. Tucking his head into her neck. Murmuring comforting words until he felt her begin to relax.

"It's alright, love. I'm here. Not going anywhere."

Julia could've wept even harder, heart swelling with gratitude for the man in her arms. Her sorrow slowly dissolving, losing its grip, its power, the stronghold it had built around her life beginning to crumble the more she shed her pain. 

The more she unearthed it, allowed it to be witnessed, to be met with compassion and love and respect from someone who cared.

It didn’t have to define her. Nor imprison her any longer.

_She could be free._

"Julia?"

Hazel met blue.

Her eyes opened, met his gaze. 

So open, bared to her. Full of warmth, of concern.

Full of an emotion she was beginning to recognize the longer they locked eyes, neither looking away. No longer willing to deny it anymore.

They were falling for each other.

Titles and duties and the world be altogether damned as Julia closed her eyes and surrendered her mouth once more, her body, letting go at last, letting their lovemaking flow, divesting each other of every stitch of clothing, nude bodies entwined sensuously beneath thin linen sheets as the storm rumbled on around them.

David. 

All heat and hardness, all sinew and bulk. Julia, breathless as his strong, broad palms pressed her entire frame to his. Exhilarated by the feel of his powerful body, his excitement more than obvious as she felt the thick length of him prodding her inner thighs, sliding coyly against her belly.

She dared slip a hand down to grasp him, feeling him throb hotly in her palm. David closed his eyes as she stroked him slowly, the slickness of their sweat coupled with the emission leaking from the tip of his cock causing a delicious, slippery friction that had him groaning in seconds.

"Julia, please," he pleaded, handsome features flushed as his breathing grew shallow, taking her mouth with a ferocity that revealed just how close he really was. Julia didn't let go right away, David nipping at her bottom lip in admonishment as another guttural moan tore from his throat. 

"Fuck..."

The sight of him, all sweaty and feral, deep blue eyes opening to peer down at her with sensual warning, made Julia pulse with need. She could tell she was ready, the apex of her thighs slippery and warm with arousal, the pleasurable ache of her cunt swelling with anticipation as she parted her legs for him, closing her eyes, breathing deeply.

Trusting him to go slow.

David, placing another soft kiss upon her lips. And another. 

Another as he took himself in hand and nuzzled the head of his sex against her and slowly pressed forward. Stopping at the feel of her closing tightly around him, Julia exhaling hard, digging her fingers into the broad muscles of his back. 

"It's okay," he reminded her gently, kissing her furrowed brow. "I've got you, love. We're taking our time..."

And she eased up in time, relaxing in slow, hesitant degrees. 

David patient, willing to wait, willing to comfort her. Willing to rock against her slowly, making his thrusts shallow at first, then deeper as she was able to accommodate more. His hips sensuously moving with hers in rhythm, eyes locked on her face as she moaned and undulated beneath his strong, steady motions. 

Julia felt his hand move to her thigh, hiking it higher up on his hip as he intensified his rhythm, tilting their angle so that his thrusts rubbed her clit perfectly.

_God..._

"Feels good, doesn't it?" he whispered huskily, looking quite proud of himself as he watched her eyes roll back, her breathing become harsher by the second. Julia was quickly losing herself to passion, her mouth agape as that incredible friction against her clit coupled with the deep plunge of his cock conspired to send her hurtling towards bliss. "Let go, love..."

"Oh..." _She was close. So close..._

"C'mon Julia, yes...let go...it's alright, love," David cajoled, grasping her hips and grinding against her tightly, not letting up as she grew more frenzied, head thrashing against the pillows as the pressure built and built...

A cry pierced the air that Julia hardly recognized as her own, orgasm crashing through her body with force, rendering her senseless with pleasure as her body shook hard in David's arms, thighs quivering around his waist. She felt him follow her, heard him groan her name low into her neck as his hips bucked and surged and he pulled partly out of her, the warm, wet gush of his seed sticky between her thighs.

Julia let out a long, slow exhale. 

Felt David do the same, his palm coming up to cradle her cheek. 

The soft press of his lips on hers following her down into a deep, dreamless slumber.

* * *

Voicemail #8

12/11/18

05:35 

_"Hello, you've reached the phone of PS Montague. Leave a message please. I will return your call soon."_

"Julia, it's Deepak. I've no idea where you are; Sampson's up my arse, looking to bring you in." 

A bit of static in the background, voices filtering in. The sound of a door slamming shut. 

His voice lowers suddenly. Full of concern. 

Cracking with fear.

"Listen. You need to call me immediately. Kim never made it home last night."


	11. The Battle to Come

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good news: I finished the whole story! Wooooooo!
> 
> So there's about 4 more chapters coming for y'all, along with an epilogue. I'll be editing and posting it all over the next week or so. Thank you to everyone who's hung in there and enjoyed it thus far. I hope you love the conclusion as much as I do.
> 
> Please enjoy.
> 
> -Candi

* * *

"Julia."

Her eyes remained stubbornly shut, and for once in her life Julia didn't fight the urge to keep them closed. Extreme exhaustion refusing to let her respond even as she felt her hair being brushed gently back from her forehead.

"Julia? Wake up, love..."

A pair of soft lips kissed her brow. Then her temple. Her cheek. 

"You want me to do more to get your attention?"

The voice got lower, more suggestive. 

Distinctly Scottish. 

Alarm bloomed in her chest as Julia's eyes struggled to open and adjust to the semi-darkness, her disorientation slow to depart. Taking in the broad edge of a shoulder in a black shirt, the warmth of the body leaning over hers. The clean scent of freshly-showered skin as he hovered, lips pressing against the bare line of her neck. David hummed as he felt her move, raising up and treating her to a slow, lazy grin.

"Morning. Two hours' sleep. Finally beat you," he whispered triumphantly, even though she could sense the lingering exhaustion radiating from his frame, his lids heavy in the scarce light of dawn. David peered at her, concern overtaking his humor as his eyes scanned her face. "How are you feeling?"

Julia just blinked at him, mind blank, still getting her bearings. The night before beginning to come back into focus in incremental degrees mentally and physically. 

Her body letting her know in every single way imaginable that, yes, the score was kept.

That she'd been involved in an auto crash, a lengthy gunfight, and an incredibly passionate tryst with her principal all within one day's time. 

That she'd stormed out of her marriage and confessed to her assault at the hands of the Prime Minister all within the space of 6 hours. 

That she was in bed, completely nude under soft sheets that were still redolent of the intimacy shared between their confines just hours before, in a place she still couldn't point to on a map if her very life were at stake. Being tended to with overwhelming kindness by a man still as handsome as he was inscrutable, whose secrets had secrets, and who she'd elected to trust with literally _everything_ at the height of her vulnerability the night before.

_God. _

She didn't know how to feel. About any of it. 

"I'm okay," she managed finally, noting the skepticism that came over his features at her simplistic response. David waited a moment, cautious and ever watchful, straightening up so that he sat on the edge of the bed.

"Okay," he murmured with a quiet sigh, deciding not to push.

"What time is it?"

"Seven," he whispered back, peering at his watch as he ran a hand absently through his damp curls. "I've got to get back."

"They know you're gone?"

"...Not exactly. Let's just say that buying my own invisibility for a few hours of peace has never been cheap. And I didn't exactly pay off your husband..."

"Ex-husband."

"Ex-husband. Who knows what he'll say the minute the press knocks this morning?"

"I doubt he'd exactly be crowing to the press that the UK Chancellor came to his door dressed in full leather, busted his nose up, and ran off with his wife in the middle of the night," Julia remarked dourly. "Not sure they'd believe him. And Rob has a ridiculous amount of pride, however unjustified it may be. He'll lie." 

David offered a tired smile in response. "Well, when you put it that way. Makes me sound like a vigilante. A badass. I like it."

Julia just shook her head, slightly amused despite herself. "You're impossible."

"And you're hungry, I bet. Charlie made breakfast. I bought it up for you," he whispered, gesturing to the wicker dresser. Sure enough, there was a tray expertly set with a covered plate. 

"He went full Scottish, which he hardly ever does for me. I swear he's trying to keep you here. Starting to see me as competition for your affections."

"Is that right?"

He just gave her his patented boyish smirk in response, looking at her steadily. Julia felt herself warm up beneath the covers as his eyes slid down over her barely covered form, the slow shake of his head suggesting exactly where his mind was headed. 

"God, what I wouldn't give for another hour with you under those sheets..."

She shifted beneath his heated scrutiny, her own desire burgeoning even as she held it in check. "You have to get back. And so do I."

"Already arranged. Charlie's taking you back the minute you say you're ready. He's got...considerable resources here for you to protect yourselves with, should you meet with any trouble."

"Resources?"

David shrugged. "He's ex-military, just like you. Loved the artillery aspect of it...and has the cellar to prove it."

Julia's eyes widened. "I see."

"He might look a little long in the tooth, but don't underestimate him in a fight, believe me. The whole property's shielded from wireless signal, so your phone won't work, nor will its GPS. You're officially off the grid for about 3 km in each direction from here."

"Okay."

"Also." David shifted to the side for a moment, reaching into his back pocket and presenting her with a black card. Julia took it quizzically, noting its subtle metallic sheen, its relative heaviness despite its size.

"I figured you'd need a safe place to stay," he murmured. "There's a back entrance to the Shard, as you well know. This card'll grant you access to every floor I own in the building, plus my private garage. Bill's down there on guard; he's Shard personnel, so I'm willing to wager he isn't a part of all of this mess. We should be able to trust him. He'll give you the key to any car you want to use, or drive you anywhere you wish. The 70th floor is another penthouse, and it's yours for as long as you need it to be. It's private, quiet. I've already contacted the waitstaff to prepare it with everything you might need, but if there's anything I forgot, please don't hesitate to ask."

Julia hardly knew what to say. Thank you felt stunningly inadequate. She sat up slowly and instead sought his lips for one long, sensual moment, feeling him smile against her mouth.

"Don't do this to me, Julia," he warned after she pulled away, shaking his head as he stared deeply into her eyes. "Please tell me to go before I start having **you** for breakfast, love..."

"Go," she whispered. 

"Eat. Rest. I'll be in touch," he promised gently, stealing one last kiss before rising and making his way to the door. Their eyes locked one last time, David gazing at her meaningfully before slipping through the doorway and disappearing down the hall.

* * *

As it were, Julia's particularly potent brand of exhaustion that morning didn't exactly support breakfast plans. 

Or leaving to return at a sensible hour.

She'd taken David's words to heart, particularly the 'rest' bit, and made the mistake of sliding back down beneath the covers, promising herself just a half-hour's worth of sleep before she started the day in earnest. The old-fashioned digital alarm clock on the nightstand had been easy enough to set, and she laid back down, instantly falling back into a deep, heavy slumber.

\----------

So heavy, in fact, that the three sharp knocks and strong, Scottish-tinged laughter that rang suddenly through the room barely registered at first. 

"Aye, sleepin' beauty! Up, up. They're gonna come searchin' for ye soon."

Julia cracked her eyes open for a second time, shutting them just as quickly to shield herself from the intense sunshine pouring into the room. A hand rose to cover her face, and she groaned as she heard a dry chuckle come from the direction of the room's threshold.

"Charlie?"

"Too tired for breakfast, eh?" he remarked, gesturing to her untouched tray. "Not to worry, lass. Better come on down for lunch now."

"What time is it?"

"Half past 1," he returned easily, causing her to let out a violent string of curses. "Dave's already been on the telly for at least three hours straight, poor sod. All these interviews about the incident yesterday. They're not givin' him a break." 

_Shit! _

_"_I need to get going," Julia rushed out urgently, Charlie wisely taking the hint and shutting the door so that she could start the process. Her body ached and her head throbbed miserably as she snatched her bag and hurried across the hall to the bath.

She pulled out her phone, tapped the screen. Completely dead. 

The shower hissed, filling the room with hot steam. The tap ran cool as she cupped her hands and rinsed her face. She gathered another handful to sip from as she took the last three pills she had, mentally recalling the exact amount in her locker at the precinct and in her desk.

Yes, she'd have enough to last for the week ahead.

Just to get her by. For now.

* * *

The Yard was bustling with activity later that afternoon as Julia flashed her badge and slid past the loaded stares of the personnel on duty at the range entrance, avoiding everyone as she made her way to the locker room.

Her phone was still frustratingly useless. Charlie's station wagon barely contained a modern-day radio, let alone any sort of charging device. 

So they'd listened to BBC radio the entire way back, his trusty rifle covered carefully in the backseat. The news blared in the foreground, full of conspiracy theories interspersed with the subdued soundbites of a Chancellor Budd in full politician mode. He was commanding and charismatic as usual, offering all the right reassurances to a nation rocked by the news of an attempt on his life. Updates from the police were scarce; Sampson offered an official statement about the continued commitment of the investigation that echoed her former sentiments, but added little else.

All the more reason for Julia to practically sprint to her locker, where she had a fresh suit, a holster, and a charger all lying in wait. She needed to seek out Deepak and Kim immediately, find a secure place to debrief, and share what she now knew about the chancellor and his connections while pressing them for what they knew about yesterday's incident. 

Something smelled incredibly rotten. They all knew it. 

And Julia was hell-bent on figuring out the trap being set behind the scenes before it went off and took out more casualties in the process.

_Almost there._

She rounded the corner with her head down, brushing shoulders with a passing officer. Took quick steps towards the locker room before wrenching the door open and making a left down the corridor. Julia swiftly walked down the row before making another right down the next aisle. 

She glanced up just in time, spotting a figure right before she barreled into it. Julia stopped short with a gasp, looking up into familiar brown eyes that were hard and glassy.

Deepak stood there. Waiting for her.

Standing right beside her locker. 

Which was now missing its door. 

And all of its contents.

* * *

"Kim's missing."

"What!?"

"For practically 12 hours now. Where the** _fuck_** have you been?"

Deepak's words were terse, angry in a way Julia had never, ever encountered before. His eyes were swollen from crying, blazing with pain as he stared at her, demanding answers that she couldn't give. She could only stare at him helplessly, mouth agape, feeling the color drain from her features as the gut punch of his news sunk in slowly.

_Kim. Missing._

"Julia. Talk. Right now. Off the record," Deepak reiterated urgently, closing the distance between them, getting right in her face and lowering his voice. "I know she was investigating the PM for you. Digging into Budd's past. But I don't know why, and I barely know what she'd uncovered before she--" 

"Sergeant Montague," a voice intoned from behind them both, Julia nearly jumping out of her skin as Rayburn coolly approached them both.

"Good of you to show up. Finally."

"Louise, I've got this," Deepak deterred, trying to wave her off with little success. "I need a minute with the skip. In private."

"Sampson's orders," his partner intoned drolly, crossing her arms and staring Julia down. Never one to cower, Julia straightened her spine and stared right back, sensing the underlying current of aggression beneath the confrontation. 

"She wants her interrogated. Now. Not later. We've wasted enough time."

"Let's go," Julia replied tightly, affecting a defiant air as she turned away from Deepak's heavy scrutiny and pointedly shoved past the younger officer on the way out. 

Praying to every deity she knew that the quivering fear flaring to life in her psyche, the heavy press of guilt and self-loathing at the thought of possibly having put her closest friend in mortal danger, didn't show as she led the trio of them through flourescent-lit halls filled with whispering and furtive side-glances.

* * *

"14 November 2018. Detective Sergeant Louise Rayburn present."

"DCI Deepak Sharma."

"Police Sergeant Julia Montague."

"Sergeant. Let's start this off by having you briefly detail the events of yesterday's attack from your recollection."

Julia cleared her throat, voice strong and assured. 

"The team and I were en-route from Parliament after Chancellor Budd's address. Constable Tom Fenton requested confirmation of the route we were taking, and I conferred with the driver once I'd ascertained we had indeed headed off-course. Our driver indicated that the new route was given at the behest of control. Before I could probe further into the discrepancy, our convoy was besieged by gunfire. I took one round to the chest, which my vest was able to protect me from. The vehicle I was in with the chancellor crashed in a nearby field. The other vehicle was run off of the road, if my recollection of the transmission is correct."

Rayburn took notes, holding up a finger to signal her need for more time. She gestured again after a moment. "Go on."

Julia took a deep breath, collecting her thoughts before she continued. "I...lost consciousness for a time. Came to, checked on both the driver and chancellor. Both were alive but unconscious. I armed myself with my reserve rifle, made my way out of the vehicle, and set up a defensive strategy against the gunmen encroaching on our party. There was a gunfire exchange, and I managed to kill or injure four of the five suspects. The fifth ambushed me, and I drew my handgun to shoot him at close range."

The silence stretched thin after her final words. 

Rayburn narrowed her eyes for a moment, diverting them back to her notepad as she scribbled something down. Deepak remained stiff, face practically set in stone as he stared at her from across the table. Julia thought she saw blame in his eyes. She looked away, the pang of guilt stabbing her anew, tightly controlled fear rising fast in her chest.

"To recount what you've said, sergeant. Constable Fenton alerted you to the new route and asked for confirmation of its validity. Correct?"

"Yes."

"Why weren't you aware of the convoy taking a different route before his transmission to you? Or notice any strange cars following you on the route?"

Julia hesitated slightly, uneasy at the new line of questioning. 

"I...hadn't been feeling well earlier. My focus was admittedly compromised during the ride."

"What, exactly, was the problem? According to his statement," Rayburn flipped through the papers nestled in the file in front of her, "Sergeant Montague was acting 'off' during the Parliament address. Left me in charge of team to take a breather outside. Returned, and left early again to man the vehicle minutes before the party was scheduled to depart."

"Yes. That's accurate."

"Were you sick?"

"I had a moment of nausea, nothing more. It passed."

"Why didn't you formally hand off command as per department protocol for illness-related emergencies?"

"Because it wasn't an emergency, was it?" Julia snapped. Rayburn's jaw hardened. Deepak continued his stony scrutiny, hardly reacting to Julia's sudden rise in temper. 

"I was _not_ sick enough to warrant handing off the team. And as you can tell, I was certainly well enough to keep the chancellor alive after the rest of the team went MIA."

"Yes. About that."

It was Deepak's turn to question her, opening the file in front of him and rifling through its contents. Two pictures of the totaled SUV were seized and handed off to Julia. 

"The body of the car was riddled with bullets, the front end destroyed by the crash."

She nodded. "Yes, I can see that."

He tilted his head a bit, narrowed his gaze. Implored her to look again. 

"Tell me if you notice anything unusual about these pictures."

Julia squinted, shaking her head. "I'm...not sure what you're looking for..."

"Notice the bullet pattern."

And it suddenly clicked for Julia, the longer she stared.

At the bullet holes. Dozens of them. 

Piercing the windshield in the head-on picture of the destroyed truck. The hood from the passenger side. The fender. Her passenger door.

Yet the rear passenger door had barely caught a round. The window was wholly intact. 

Julia exhaled in shock, hardly knowing how to react to this latest twist. "They wanted him alive."

"They wanted you dead," Deepak nodded with certainty, his eyes grave. "This _was_ an assassination attempt. But not on Budd's life."

Rayburn piped up again, not finished in the least with her line of questioning. "We've known for a long time that the chancellor might have some...skeletons in his past. There's a possibility being floated that he staged this himself. Your thoughts?"

Julia's head spun; she stared down at the pictures, her fragile certainties about the man in question starting to tear precariously at the seams. 

"No. No, he didn't. He couldn't--"

"How do you know?" Deepak demanded. 

"He couldn't have done this. He could've died in that wreck! Surely there would be easier ways to dispatch of someone getting too close to the truth."

"None that would be as attention-grabbing. Or as compelling," Rayburn countered, eyebrows raising at the strong defense Julia mounted on the chancellor's behalf. "Budd loves a headline. What better notoriety tool than a failed attempt on his life?"

"Dav—the chancellor would never do this!"

_Fuck. _

That slip was costly, and Julia knew it. Deepak and Rayburn exchanged a telling glance.

"Because you know him so well."

Rayburn's voice held an edge of sarcasm that bordered on mockery. Julia held her silence and looked away, fearful of giving away more.

"Where were you last night, Sergeant?"

"Investigating a lead."

"In the middle of the night. After the day you had." Rayburn scoffed. "Why on earth would you take that risk without backup?"

"With all due respect, I have no idea if I can trust any 'backup' from this department," Julia snapped suddenly, refusing to bear up under their interrogation any longer. "And while you've been digging around in my locker and questioning my whereabouts for the last 12 hours, nobody has yet offered me a suitable explanation as to how our convoy was diverted in the first place. Who from control ordered the route switch, stranded us on that road, made the conditions possible for that attack to occur." 

She settled back in her chair, shoulders squared and arms folded tight. "So until I get answers on that front, you're both welcome to fuck off. I'm done playing the game." Julia looked pointedly over at Rayburn who simply stared at her, pen in midair. "Write that down."

"...I'll take it from here."

* * *

The door opened, the chilly directive echoing in the room. 

Sampson appeared from the shadowed recesses, grey eyes piercing as she summarily dismissed the other two officers present. Deepak lingered for a moment, Julia's sudden burst of defiance faltering as their eyes met and held. 

_Later, _he mouthed tensely as he straightened up and walked out. 

The door shut with a heaviness that reflected the increasing dread in the room as the two women silently sized each other up. Sampson was the first to break off her scrutiny, turning and walking over to the bank of recording equipment at the side of the room. A few deft motions rendered the quiet whir of the recorder obsolete. Another button was pushed to deactivate the camera mounted on the ceiling. Sampson reached up and turned it away before coming to stand directly in front of her.

Julia, undaunted and unafraid, stared right back up at her. Ready for the battle to come.

\------------

Except she truly, truly wasn't.

Not even by a long shot.

* * *

The portfolio in Sampson's hands lay flat on the table.

The commander opened it without preamble. Settled back on her heels and crossed her arms, peering down her nose at the younger officer.

"Sergeant Montague, do you know this man?"

_Shit._

Julia remained absolutely silent, her heart stopping dead in her chest. Fought not to show her sudden terror. Didn't dare move a muscle.

"Andrew Apsted," Sampson supplied for her. "Former officer from the RAF. Who served tours in Iraq in your regiment for close to four years. Ring any bells?"

Silence.

"He returned from the war. Became a registered pharmacist in London. On the surface, he's been a good one. Respectable, law-abiding. No infractions on his record. His aliases, of which there are close to 12, are a completely different story."

Silence.

"Have you been in touch with this man, Sergeant?"

Julia forced her words out from a cotton-dry mouth. 

"...Once in awhile, we connect."

"Over lunch? Reminiscing about the good times?"

"Yes," she bit out.

"And to cap off those lunches, about how many oxycodone pills would you say he's passed off to you in those years? Hundreds? Thousands?"

Julia could hardly breathe. 

"Commander, please consider--"

Sampson cut her off, voice cold, those barren eyes boring straight through her. "How long have you been an opioid addict, Sergeant Montague?"

"I'm not--"

"Your blood results. Fresh fax from St. George's," the commander continued dispassionately. She tossed it in front of Julia, who by then had begun to tremble uncontrollably, her panic on full and unrelenting display. 

"Opioid levels at more than **four times** the acceptable level, more than an hour removed from the attack."

"I can explain--"

Sampson gave her no quarter, laying her bare, merciless in every single way. Her words pointed and viciously clear as Julia tried desperately to regain her composure, to fight through her panic and defend herself from the barrage of accusations.

"You were impaired yesterday. To a dangerous extent. Putting the lives of the chancellor and your entire team at risk. And I doubt it was the first time. There are criminal penalties for conducting police duties while under the influence of alcohol or narcotics, as you surely know. Mr. Apsted and his many iterations are likely headed to prison for a very long time. The only question here is whether you should join him."

The line of the commander's mouth curled as she ended her spiel, triumphant in her supposed victory. 

Awaiting a response. 

And much like Julia, what she received was utterly unexpected.

\------------

"I see what this is."

Julia nodded after a long moment as she slowly stood, fists clenched. Mustering every inch of her power before proceeding, resolute in her goal to knock that little smirk off of Sampson's face once and for all.

"You cut in here the minute I demand answers about the department's clear role in the attack, ready to discredit me. To shut me up. Because who would believe a drugged-up, disillusioned officer with a troubled past? Especially if the truth is too damaging to come to light." She came from around the table, slowly approaching the commander with ferocity hard in her gaze.

"What are you hiding?"

"Sit down, Sergeant Montague. I'm not done with you."

"Who diverted my team yesterday, Commander Sampson?" Julia questioned sharply, coming in close, less than a meter from that impenetrable face. The other woman shifted, showing her first sign of discomfort with the direction the interrogation was heading.

"Frankly, Sergeant, I think you have bigger problems to consider--"

Julia cut her off, refusing to back down. Not willing to shut up and take it anymore.

"Was it you? On whose orders? The commissioner? Is that why you chose me for this assignment? You two can get your kickbacks from Penhaligon and pull the strings to get Budd killed, all the while looking to use me as the pawn? The one who could get access to him and share his secrets, but easily doubted and disposed of when she gets too close to the truth?"

"The truth." 

Sampson had the nerve to laugh. Julia bristled at the falseness of the sound as the commander squared up again, delivering her next blistering diatribe in a voice low with warning.

"The truth is that you've been a very, very sick woman for a long, long time, Sergeant Montague," she said, her words dripping with saccharine condescension. "The truth is that you never were fit for duty, were you? The _truth_, according to your husband who was so kind to grant us an interview while you disappeared on holiday, is that your mental health has never recovered since the war. That you're wasting away: physically, emotionally, intellectually. That your judgment is nonexistent. That your duties have been most certainly compromised by your feelings for the chancellor. That you've likely consummated that relationship several times over by now. And that there's probably nothing you wouldn't say or do, no person you wouldn't forsake, to protect him. Even if you had to lie to do it. Even at the cost of another innocent officer's life."

Julia had heard enough. "You fucking cu--"

"Rayburn!"

The door opened less than a second later, Sampson's summons creating the barrier she desired between herself and the seething officer before her. She continued, that pompous curl of her lip back in place as Rayburn shut the door again and stood by Julia's side.

"Police Constable Kim Sharma is missing because of you," she assured her. "Because you went behind the department's back and launched an inquiry without our knowledge, putting the constable's life in danger."

"No," Julia retorted, denying her every assertion, so far past the point of anger that she couldn't stop her next words if she'd tried. 

"Our lives are in danger because of you, commander. Because this entire operation has reeked of corruption and lies from the start. 'Do whatever you have to do', isn't that right? That's exactly what you said. Knowing how dangerous it would be. Now you're all too willing to sell me out and shut me up. If Kim dies because you put us both in this situation, you better believe the blood will be on your hands. And I'll make sure you pay."

Sampson was red, apoplectic. 

Finally shaking with mutual rage. 

Julia took absurd satisfaction in that small victory even as the verdict rendered next all but ensured she'd lost the war.

"I'm taking your badge. You will relinquish your firearm today. You're suspended for 4 weeks without pay pending a full investigation while we clean up YOUR mess. You are not to interfere. You will not grant interviews. And if you continue your little psuedo-investigation, or even utter a word of that ridiculous conspiracy theory to the press, I will have you immediately brought up on charges and sent to prison. Is that clear?"

* * *


End file.
